#mitchell!reader

You turned up the radio, letting the familiar guitar riff of a Fleetwood Mac song cut clean through the noise. You were prone to drowning things out with music; it was a great way to avoid your own thoughts.

The car wasn’t new. You couldn’t afford new. But she had personality—a red 1970s convertible you’d found through a guy in Venice who insisted she “ran like a dream,” which was only true if that dream involved the occasional stutter uphill. You named her Cherry because subtlety was overrated.

Your whole life fit neatly inside Cherry: two suitcases in the trunk, a stack of half-filled notebooks on the passenger seat, and a battered guitar case in the back seat. 

You’d spent the last few years chasing inspiration across cities like it was a full-time job with no benefits. You’d written songs in shared kitchens, poems on bar napkins, and once had an Oscar-worthy breakdown in a Portland laundromat when someone stole your clothes and left you with nothing but the denim shorts and old Top Gun sweatshirt you were wearing.

Life experience, you called it. Character development, if you were feeling generous. But after your last roommate tried to start a kombucha brewery in the bathtub, you decided it was time to come home.

Once you passed San Diego, the road curved inland toward the base. You slowed down, mostly because you always did here. The air had that sharp metallic tang of jet fuel that never quite left your memory. 

You didn’t mean to look up. But then you did, and that was your first mistake.

Four jets cut across the sky in formation, sunlight bouncing off their wings. The sound reached you a few seconds later, deep and thunderous, vibrating straight through your chest. Your breath caught before your brain could even register why.

It always made you think of Bradley.

You wondered if one of those pilots was him. Seeing those jets reminded you that he’d stayed while you’d run.

You forced your eyes back to the road, heart doing that inconvenient nostalgia thing you pretended not to notice. You told yourself you were older now, grounded, emotionally evolved. 

By the time you pulled into The Hard Deck’s parking lot, the sky was washed in peach and gold. The sign out front was still a little crooked, still sun-faded, and the gravel crunched under your tyres exactly the same way it had last summer. You turned off the engine and let the quiet sink in.

Your reflection in the rear-view mirror looked tired, but you could pass it off as intentional—messy eyeliner, bitten lips, wind-swept hair. 

You got out and stretched, legs stiff from the drive, and reached into the back seat for your patchwork shoulder bag. The strap was a little frayed where it rubbed against your shoulder, but you liked it that way. It was the one thing you took with you to every city you’d called home. 

Inside, the bar hummed with life in that low, comforting way you’d missed. The clink of glasses, laughter, the faint buzz of a jukebox humming in the corner. You could have closed your eyes and known exactly where you were.

The Hard Deck hadn’t changed since you’d visited your dad last summer. The same scuffed floorboards. The same pool tables that leaned slightly to the left. The same smell of salt and spilt beer baked into the walls. 

Penny’s touch was everywhere. The neon sign over the bar gleamed a little brighter. The old jukebox, once half-broken and temperamental, now glowed in the corner like it had been restored within an inch of its life.

Eight years ago, it had been different. Louder, rougher around the edges. A full-on Navy haunt when Bradley was just another new aviator at Top Gun, eager to show you his favourite spots.

Bradley had taken you straight to the piano.

You could still see him there, sleeves rolled, hair too long, grin wide enough to make you forget how to speak. The room had been packed, people shouting, drinks sloshing, but he’d been completely lost in the song. You’d tried to keep up, but your hands knew guitar strings, not piano keys.

Bradley had only laughed, covered your hand with his, and pressed your fingers into the right chord. His touch had been light, sure, and entirely unfair.

“See?” he’d said, still grinning. “You’re getting it.”

You hadn’t been. You’d been too busy trying to remember how lungs worked.

Now, the jukebox played something jaunty, and you blinked as the memory desolved. The Hard Deck had changed since your first visit, and so had you.

“Well, look who it is!”

You turned toward the voice, already smiling. “Penny!”

Penny Benjamin was making her way around the bar, sun-kissed and grinning, all warmth and disbelief. She pulled you into a hug that smelled faintly of citrus and salt air.

“Pete wasn’t kidding,” she said, holding you at arm’s length. “He told me you were moving back for real this time. I didn’t believe him. He’s been saying that for, what, two summers now?”

You laughed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I believed me either. But I think I’m ready to stay in one place for a while. Maybe even put down some roots.”

Penny’s smile softened. “Music to my ears. And if you need something to do while those roots take hold, I could always use another pair of hands behind the bar.”

You blinked, pleasantly surprised. “You’re offering me a job?”

“Only if you’re not too good for us locals now,” she teased. “Pete says you’ve been living the free spirited artistic dream. But I remember those drinks you made at the barbecue last summer. You’ve got some serious skills.”

You grinned, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “I could start once I’ve unpacked, assuming you’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” Penny ducked behind the counter, filled a glass with Coke, and added a wedge of lime. The ice clinked as she slid it toward you. “On the house. For my favourite Mitchell.”

You picked up the glass, hiding your smile behind the rim. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that.”

“Oh, please,” she said, smirking. “He already knows.”

You took a sip and let the comfort of being home settle in your chest. For the first time in years, you weren’t just passing through.

You were people-watching, entertained by the group of pilots playing darts and arguing about whose landing had been cleaner that day, when someone slid onto the stool beside you.

He was broad, blond, and cocky. The kind of man who probably practised his smirk on reflective surfaces. The service khakis gave him away instantly; neat, pressed, and impossible to mistake for anything but Navy. You knew more about pins than the average tourist, and the ones over his pocket told you everything you needed to know.

This man wasn’t just Navy. He was an aviator. Judging by the overconfident lean and movie-star grin, you’d bet good money this was the infamous Hangman you’d heard about from your dad.

“Well, hello there,” he drawled, flashing a grin that you could tell had a high success rate. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. You visiting?”

You tilted your head, giving him your best imitation of a curious outsider. “Something like that.”

Hangman leaned closer, elbows on the bar, radiating charm. “Let me guess. You’re a tourist. Beach trip, maybe? Or did you come to watch the planes?”

You widened your eyes just enough to sell it. “Planes? You mean the Navy ones?”

Penny briefly caught your eye from behind the counter, her mouth twitching like she was desperately holding in a laugh.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Hangman said, grinning wider. “The Navy ones. You ever been on base before?”

You shook your head, sipping through your straw with deliberate innocence. “No, can’t say I have. But I’ve always heard the pilots around here are impressive.”

He straightened a little, grin turning self-satisfied. “That’s one word for us. I could show you around sometime, give you the full experience.”

You leaned in, mirroring his posture, voice just soft enough to make him listen closer. “The full experience?”

“Strictly professional,” Hangman said, not even pretending to mean it. “Though, fair warning—once you’ve flown with a pilot, nothing else really compares.”

You blinked up at him innocently, hiding your grin behind your straw. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Hangman rested a hand casually against the back of your stool, confidence oozing from every pore. You were about to give in a little and see how far he’d go when a familiar voice cut in.

“Hangman, step away from my daughter.”

You’d never seen a man pale so fast. Hangman froze, his grin disintegrating as he turned toward the source. “Sir?”

You spun on your stool, already smiling. “Dad!” You jumped up to hug your dad, laughing against his shoulder while Hangman looked like he was praying for a time machine.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Maverick looked entirely too pleased with himself when you parted. Calm, casual, just enough smugness in his voice to let you know he’d seen the whole thing. “You two know each other?”

“Not officially,” Hangman said tightly, posture stiffening like he’d just remembered how to stand at attention. “I was just, uh, welcoming her to town.”

“Sure you were,” Penny said, sliding Maverick a beer down the counter without missing a beat. “Very hospitable of you, Hangman.”

You grinned, unable to resist chiming in. “Such a gentleman. It’s generous of you to offer to show me around my hometown, but I think I’ll manage just fine.”

A loud laugh burst from the pool table. Payback, naturally. “Hangman, you hitting on the boss’s daughter?”

The reaction was instant. Phoenix nearly dropped her cue, doubled over with laughter until Bob caught her arm to keep her from tipping forward. Coyote choked on his beer. 

Fanboy muttered something that sounded like “Oh, dead man walking.”

Hangman went very still. “I don’t know that I would call it ‘hitting on’ her,” he said faintly, but the damage was done.

You turned toward the group, the picture of composure despite the glee bubbling under your ribs. “Nice to meet you all,” you said sweetly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Bet you have,” Phoenix said, still giggling. “Didn’t think I’d ever see someone wipe the smug off Bagman’s face, but damn, I owe you a drink.”

Bob smiled shyly from where he stood beside her. “It’s nice to meet you,” he offered.

“Same here,” you said warmly. “You must be Bob. Dad’s mentioned you. All of you, actually,” you added, motioning to the group. “I’m really excited to finally meet you.”

“Damn, Hangman,” Coyote said, laughing as he clapped Hangman on the shoulder. “At least you went down swinging.”

“Yeah, straight into the ground,” Payback said, grinning. “Classic Bagman.”

Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You all done, or should I start digging my own grave?”

“Don’t worry,” Maverick cut in, clearly enjoying himself. He clapped Hangman on the back with mock sympathy. “You’ll have plenty of chances to rebuild that ego in training tomorrow.”

That sent another round of laughter through the group, and you couldn’t help it. You reached up to hug your dad again, squeezing him tightly. “I miss you.”

No matter how far you’d run from his career, his shadow, or the kind of roots that terrified you, you always came back to this. Your dad had been the one steady presence in every stage of your life, the compass that never stopped pointing you home.

“Missed you too, kid,” Maverick said quietly, squeezing back before leaning away with a proud smile.

When you turned again, the rest of the squad had gathered around, curiosity replacing their laughter. Phoenix leaned her hip against the bar, Coyote nursing a beer beside her. 

“So,” Phoenix said, studying you with a spark of amusement, “you’re Maverick’s daughter. Explains the confidence.”

You smiled. “Confidence or trouble?”

“Both,” Coyote said immediately, and everyone laughed again.

Phoenix tipped her bottle toward you, still smiling. “So what brings you back? Visiting, or…?”

“Actually,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m moving back home. Figured it was time. I’m crashing with Dad until I find my own place.”

“That’s brave,” Payback said. “Living with your old man again? You must really love him.”

Maverick just smirked. “She’s always had excellent taste.”

That drew another round of laughter and groans, and you rolled your eyes affectionately. “He’s already trying to recruit me as his new copilot.”

“Don’t tempt him,” Phoenix said, grinning. “You’d probably be better than half the guys in this room.”

You laughed, then nodded toward her. “I’ve been dying to meet you! How’s life in an elite squadron treating you?”

Phoenix lit up, leaning one elbow on the bar. “Aside from putting up with these idiots, it’s been great.” She broke off mid-sentence, gaze darting past you. “Bradshaw!” Phoenix waved him over with unfiltered enthusiasm. “About time.”

Your pulse stumbled.

Bradley paused in the doorway, tall and sun-browned, the golden bulbs casting a warm glow across his shoulders. The bar’s hum seemed to fade, or maybe it only did for you.

Phoenix glanced between you, her grin softening into curiosity. “You two must know each other, right?”

You tried to keep your tone light, though your smile wavered at the corners. “Yeah. We know each other.”

When you finally turned to face Bradley, his eyes were already on you—warm, surprised, a little disbelieving. Eight years apart, and it still hit like free fall.

You’d kept in touch for a while, after things between him and Maverick had soured. But life stretched the distance until texts faded to yearly birthday wishes, and visits stopped altogether. Maverick had moved off North Island, Bradley had been deployed more often than not, and you’d convinced yourself that growing apart was just the natural order of things.

Now, standing here, it didn’t feel so natural at all.

Bradley’s mouth curved, soft with disbelief. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises,” you said softly.

The corner of his jaw ticked, just the smallest flicker of something you couldn’t read.

Phoenix glanced between you again, realising she’d just stumbled into something layered. “Okay,” she stretched the word out, raising her hands.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Bradley smiled, small and genuine and a little dazed, and closed the distance.

“Come here,” he said, and you were already stepping forward.

Bradley pulled you in without hesitation, his hand warm and solid against your back. The scent hit first: soap, sun, and that clean cotton smell that always clung to him. His shirt was rough with salt and sweat, the kind of texture that reminded you he lived half his life on tarmacs and flight decks. 

His breath was close in your ear, even and steady, until you realised yours wasn’t.

“I didn’t believe Maverick when he said you were moving back,” Bradley murmured.

You smiled against his chest, trying not to inhale like someone deprived of oxygen. “Surprise again.”

When you stepped back, the air felt thinner. His hands lingered a beat too long, brushing your arms before he dropped them like he’d only just remembered how intimate it was. His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth, then away, and you pretended not to notice. 

You both pretended a lot of things.

“Still playing?” Bradley asked, his voice a little rougher than before.

“Guitar? Yeah. You still ignoring my playlists?”

He laughed, and the sound made your heart tighten. “Only the ones labeled ‘for when you’re feeling emotionally constipated.’”

You tilted your head. “So, all of them.”

That earned you a real grin. You hated how quickly it short-circuited your brain. He looked good—too good. 

“You look…” Bradley trailed off, as if the word was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go. “Different.”

You raised a brow. “Good different, or ‘emotional crisis’ different?”

“Definitely good.” His voice dipped lower, softer. “You were always beautiful, but you’re glowing now.”

And there it was again: the pull. The quiet, magnetic thing that never really went away, no matter how much time or distance tried. You found yourself leaning closer without thinking, caught between instinct and caution, until your hand brushed his where it rested on the bar.

The contact was brief but enough to send a quick jolt through your body before you both instinctively pulled back, hiding behind awkward smiles.

“So,” you said lightly, thumb swiping at the condensation on your glass. “How’ve you been, Rooster?”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “It’s so weird to hear you say my call sign.”

You gasped theatrically. “Rude!”

“You can call me whatever you want,” Bradley said, quieter now. “But you’re the only one who still calls me by my name.” Something flickered behind his eyes, unguarded and dangerous. “I guess I missed the sound of it in your voice.”

Before either of you could say something you couldn’t take back, a voice cut through the moment.

“Hey, nerds!” Fanboy was waving from across the room, grinning like a man who had just spotted a plot twist. “Come join us! We know you’re childhood friends, but we want a chance to get to know Maverick’s daughter.”

You smiled, eyebrows arched at your so-called childhood friend. “What do you say, Bradley?”

Hearing you say his name brought another wide grin to his face. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your adoring fans,” he teased.

When Bradley gestured toward the booth, you followed. His hand brushed the small of your back as you passed; light enough to seem accidental, but enough to make your heart trip over itself.

When your dad invited you to a beach day with Penny and the squadron, you’d said yes before he could finish the sentence. An afternoon of dog-fight football, popsicles, and sand in your sunglasses felt like the kind of chaos you used to live for in childhood summers with Maverick and Iceman. 

The afternoon sun brushed the waves with golden glitter. When Maverick called everyone over, you knew exactly what he was about to do. After the usual warm-up theatrics and fake groaning, teams were picked, and everyone persuaded your dad to join in.

Phoenix hooked your arm, already grinning. “Come on, you’ve got to see this circus up close. Hangman’s in peak insufferable form.”

You laughed, brushing sand from your shorts, and followed her. Bradley was already leaning back, shoulders flexed under the sun, tossing the ball to himself with that effortless control that made your stomach flip. 

He looked like he belonged in a recruitment ad for hot, emotionally unavailable Navy pilots.

Bradley caught your eye, winked, and sent the ball your way like a dare you weren’t ready for.  You jumped, barely keeping it from hitting your chest, and stumbled back laughing.

“Careful,” he called, jogging closer. “Wouldn’t want you spraining anything important.”

“Does my pride count?” you shot back.

“Absolutely,” Bradley said, grinning, and you had to fight the urge to glance at his hands. Lately, they had developed a suspicious habit of finding you. “I’m very thorough.”

Phoenix snorted, but gave no other commentary on his double entendre. You decided to ignore the very specific flutter that word sent through your chest. Thorough. Great. Fantastic. You were doomed.

You joined the team opposite Maverick and gave him the universal two-finger I’m watching you warning. The squadron hollered happily, and you could hear Fritz and Omaha exchanging bets on which Mitchell would be victorious.

Phoenix filled you in on the unspoken rules: always dive like it’s life or death, and never—under any circumstances—let Hangman get a free pass. It was easy enough to remember, especially with the Texan cackling at you from the other side of the beach.

The game started officially, Penny refereeing from the sidelines with exaggerated seriousness. You fell into a rhythm quickly, laughing harder than you had in years. Sand flew everywhere, the sun warmed your shoulders, and Bradley kept finding reasons to brush past you as you ran. He always seemed to be exactly close enough for your brain to short-circuit.

Every accidental touch made your heart skip.

“Hey, Mitchell,” Hangman called, standing close enough that you could smell his sunscreen. “You think you can take me down?”

“Cute,” you said flatly, flicking sand in his direction. “I may not be in the Navy, but don’t forget who raised me. I don’t do anything halfway, and I don’t lose.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “You’re scary. I’ll admire you from a safe distance.”

Phoenix groaned. “Emphasis on ‘distance,’ Bagman. She’s busy kicking your ass, not dodging your pickup lines.”

“Well said,” you declared, grinning and offering Phoenix a high-five.

“It’s nice to have you around,” she said earnestly. “Everyone’s already decided you’re one of us. Rooster’s obviously obsessed with you, but that goes without saying.”

Your eyes flicked to Bradley, who was laughing at something Bob had done. You told yourself you weren’t constantly glancing his way and dragged your eyes back to the game. You weret, of course, but denial was your favourite coping mechanism.

Hours passed in a blur, and you managed to avoid breaking anything. Hangman teased relentlessly, but with Phoenix and Bob around to back you up, you felt like you belonged. Bradley stayed close, subtly protective, saving you from catastrophic falls.

Eventually, Penny called out, “Snack and water break. You’ve earned it!”

Everyone collapsed onto towels in the setting sun. Bob handed you a towel, and Hangman leaned back, sunglasses low, pretending to evaluate your performance.

“Not bad,” Hangman said, pointing. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” you said dryly, wiping sweat off your forehead. “Your compliment is noted.”

You headed toward the coolers, only to realise the tie on your bikini top had loosened in the chaos. You made your way over to Bradley, your arm contorted behind you to keep the strings from coming undone. 

He was sitting on a towel near the coolers, arms resting on his knees, watching Yale and Harvard fight over the last rocket-shaped popsicle.

“Bradley?”

He looked up, eyebrows lifting like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah?”

You shuffled a fraction, smiling unsurely. “The tie on my bikini came undone, and I can’t quite reach it. Could you fix it for me?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide. You caught the faint hitch of a breath before he tried to mask it. You sat in front of him with your back turned, showing him how you held the strings together. 

He froze for a beat. Then another. His shoulders tensed, fingers twitching, too aware of the bare expanse of your back. Bradley shifted forward carefully. 

You felt him before he touched you. His hands hovered near the strings, uncertain, cautious, as if he could break something with a wrong move. Your shoulders tensed when his fingertips brushed the skin of your back. 

“Okay,” Bradley murmured. His voice was quiet, not commanding or joking. You caught the slight hitch in his breathing. Not fear, exactly; more like anticipation.

He looped the strings slowly, once, twice, adjusting. Gentle. So slow it felt like he was measuring time against your pulse. You were hyper-aware of the way his fingers pressed, the careful tilt of his wrists, how his arms flexed slightly with the tiniest tension. 

You tried to keep your breathing quiet, but his shallow inhales gave him away. It felt like Bradley was holding everything back, keeping his distance in every movement, even while he was behind you.

His thumbs brushed the dimples at your lower back and a shiver zipped up your spine. 

“There,” Bradley said quietly. His knuckles grazed your back again, lingering just long enough for heat to bloom where he touched you.

You felt every shift of his weight, every slow exhale that brushed your neck. The rest of the squad and your dad were chatting nearby, but you weren’t thinking about them. You were thinking about Bradley’s hands; how careful they were, how he couldn’t quite seem to stop touching you.

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. He swallowed, his pupils dark, wide, and attentive. He was mesmerised by the shape of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, and the way you were biting your bottom lip subconsciously.

You wanted to say something clever. Something that wouldn’t make your knees fold. What came out was a whisper-soft, “Thanks,” which was neither clever nor steady.

Bradley didn’t move. He let his hands hover, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines into your skin. For a long moment, all you felt was the light drag of his fingertips.

You let yourself shift, just enough to meet him, just enough to let your bodies acknowledge what neither of you was saying. Not with words. Words would make this interaction real, and you weren’t ready to face that reality yet. 

Bradley started to say something, but Phoenix’s voice cut through the air. “Who wants chips?”

You cleared your throat and stood, brushing sand off your legs. “Me,” you said, pretending your voice didn’t wobble.

You had been in town for a month, long enough to get sand permanently stuck in your shoes and afford a deposit on a nearby apartment. You had Penny’s generous customers to thank for that one; they tipped better than any bartending job you had in bigger cities.

The new apartment wasn’t much, just one bedroom, a minuscule kitchen, and the world’s most dramatic plumbing—but it was yours. And you loved it, even if the previous tenant had painted the bedroom a colour best described as the dark blue of an existential crisis.

You wanted sage green; something calm that didn’t make you feel like you were sleeping inside a sad thought.

The squad had all promised to help paint, because apparently manual labour was their version of team bonding. You’d stocked the fridge with drinks and ordered enough pizza to feed your notoriously hungry friends. Then the texts started. Bob had “a thing.” Phoenix’s “errand” mysteriously lasted four hours. Hangman sent a single thumbs-down emoji, which you assumed meant “no chance in hell.”

So when you opened the door and found only Bradley standing there, you weren’t surprised. He stood holding up a six-pack like a peace offering. His shirt was faded and soft-looking, hanging loose over his jeans in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a second.

He raised the beers. “Looks like it’s just us.”

You pretended to find that funny instead of vaguely panic-inducing. “Lucky you.”

Bradley’s eyes flicked past you into the apartment. “You sure about that? That’s a lot of wall.”

You stepped aside to let him in. “Well, your cowardly pilot friends backed out at the last minute. I’m filing a formal complaint with their superior officer in the morning.”

“Getting Mav involved,” Bradley said, brushing past you. “Bold choice.”

“Desperate times,” you muttered.

You’d already tried to scrub the old navy-blue paint off the walls, but the result looked like an avant-garde crime scene. 

Bradley took it all in with an amused glance. “You started without supervision.”

“I’m an independent woman,” you said, reaching for a can of paint with exaggerated confidence. “I don’t need supervision.”

“You’re holding the can upside down.”

You looked down. “…That feels like an opinion.”

Bradley laughed under his breath, low and warm, and picked up a roller. “Come on, Picasso. Let’s paint ourselves a masterpiece.”

He crouched and opened the can for you, forearms flexing as he stirred the sage green paint and poured it into the paint tray. You tried not to stare and failed miserably.

The first few minutes were quiet except for the squeak of rollers and the hum of classic rock playing from your Bluetooth speaker. The playlist was mostly your doing: Tom Petty, Springsteen, and a few guilty pleasure tracks you hoped Bradley wouldn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Bradley painted like a man on a mission: slow and careful strokes, all precision. You, on the other hand, were a little more abstract. Less plan, more chaos with flair.

That had always been the difference between you. Bradley had his life plotted like a flight path, every box ticked and corner squared. You were impulsive, chasing whatever caught your interest in that moment. That probably explained why he was in the Navy, and you were affectionately known as the “anywhere but here” girl.

“Yours looks better,” you admitted eventually.

Bradley didn’t look over. “Years of repainting Navy housing.”

“Of course,” you said. “All those government-issued beige walls really sharpened your technique.”

He chuckled, rolling another line of paint. “Yes, I’m very well-rounded. Wait till you see me fold laundry.” 

You pretended to swoon, voice all old-Hollywood and dramatic. “Oh, Rooster, your talent is simply too much for a girl to bear! Do you also do your own taxes?”

Bradley rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Keep your pants on, Grace Kelly.”

You fought a grin and lost. “Actually, I was going for Katharine Hepburn, but thank you!”

It was ridiculous how easy it was, how quickly you fell back into this rhythm; the back-and-forth, the teasing. The kind of ease that made you forget how long it had been since you’d really laughed like this.

You both reached for the paint tray. Bradley’s fingers brushed yours,  touch, but it set off a spark in your stomach. Neither of you pulled away. You blamed the beer, the heat—anything but what it actually was.

“You missed a spot,” you said, because your brain was desperate to fill every silence.

Bradley leaned in to look, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “No, I didn’t,” he said, squinting at the wall.

“You did. There.” You pointed, mostly to distract yourself.

Bradley sighed, mock suffering in his voice. “You’re bossy when you’re right.”

“And yet you love that about me.”

That stopped him for just a second too long. Bradley looked at you, smiled, and nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Something like that.”

You tried for casual, reaching for your beer. “You’re getting sentimental, Bradshaw. Careful.”

He wiped a streak of paint off his arm with a rag, the muscles in his forearm becoming taut. “Don’t tell Hangman. He’ll make it weird.”

“He already makes everything weird. What’s one more?”

Bradley laughed, that low, familiar sound that always seemed to settle somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t tell if the room was warmer now or if it was just you. Probably just you. 

The next song that came on made you pause. It was your favourite Otis Redding song, a soulful track that made everything feel too close, too soft around the edges.

Bradley stilled, putting the roller down to admire his painting progress. “I love this song,” he said, smiling faintly. “You really went for the classics.”

He hummed a few notes under his breath, low and rough around the edges. Then he sang along to the chorus, and you stilled like your body had turned to stone. Bradley’s voice fit the song perfectly; unpolished but warm, a little like arriving at home after a long trip.

“Still showing off, I see,” you teased to hide how your heart was doing double backflips. 

Bradley shrugged, eyes still on the wall. “Occupational hazard.”

“Yeah, right. I think you just like reminding people you’ve got range.”

He laughed, the sound soft and deep. “Well, I did say I was well-rounded. I’m just living up to expectations.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, even though your voice came out thinner than you meant. Bradley’s singing was doing something to your insides that you didn’t particularly feel like acknowledging.

Bradley must’ve noticed your silence because, without warning, he started singing along louder, like he couldn’t help it. His voice filled the room, easy and lazy and heartbreakingly good.

You rolled your eyes fondly, grinning. “Okay, rockstar, you’re ruining my productivity.”

Bradley dipped his roller, smirking. “You weren’t very productive to begin with.”

“Excuse me,” you said, gesturing to your wall. “I did this one all by myself!”

“Uh-huh,” Bradley said, mimicking your tone. “Meanwhile, I did the other three.”

By the time the playlist ended, the walls were painted a soft sage green. The room looked lighter, like it could finally breathe. Bradley stepped back, hands on his hips, inspecting the walls. A smear of green paint streaked his jaw, and somehow that made him even more endearing. 

“Not bad,” Bradley declared. “Could almost pass for professional work.”

You pretended to inspect your section. “Yeah, I feel bad. I’m too broke to pay you.”

“I’ll settle for the pizza that’s definitely cold by now.”

You huffed a laugh. “Big spender.”

He shrugged, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. “It’s the company I’m here for, anyway.”

You blinked at that and were suddenly too aware of how close he was; of how his shoulder brushed yours as he turned to look at the wall again. You caught the faint scent of his cologne—warm, clean, maddeningly familiar.

Just like that, the room fell away, and you were transported back eight years. 

After showing you all his favourite Navy spots on North Island, Bradley had driven you home in the same Bronco he’d driven in high school. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station that kept losing signal, and every few minutes, he’d reached out to fix the dial.

At the time, you hadn’t seen him in eight years. 

Bradley had cut you out alongside Maverick when you were both teenagers, and it wasn’t until your twentieth birthday that you finally reached out. By then, he’d been twenty-four, two years into his Navy career, and hoping you’d call.

There’d been a lot of phone calls, the occasional letter, the postcards you’d sent him from wherever you happened to be that month. But none of it had felt quite real until you were sitting beside him again, the windows rolled down, the salt air blowing through the cab.

Bradley looked older, of course. Broader through the shoulders, quieter in his movements. The loud boy who used to tease you about your terrible driving had been replaced by someone who carried himself differently—steady, restrained.

You’d tried to hide how much that unsettled you.

“Still got the same car,” you’d said, nodding at the dashboard.

Bradley smiled, eyes still on the road. “She’s reliable. Thought about upgrading, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Too sentimental?”

“Too broke,” he’d corrected, grinning.

You’d laughed, and the sound surprised you. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed the way Bradley looked at you like he was storing the moment away for later.

He’d finally achieved his dream and been sent to train at Top Gun, and when he told you, you hadn’t hesitated to drive down from Santa Barbara to see him. You’d told yourself you were only catching up, but the truth was impossible to ignore now.

“How’s Mav?” Bradley had asked after a while, voice careful.

You’d inhaled sharply.

You and Bradley had reconnected a few years ago, but you’d never once talked about your dad. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend the distance was because Bradley had devoted his life to following in his father’s footsteps, and you’d devoted yours to getting as far away from your father’s career as possible.

The truth was messier. Maverick had set Bradley back four years, pulled his papers to the Academy, and they hadn’t spoken since.

You’d shrugged. “Still flying. Still impossible to live with.”

Bradley had nodded. “Guess some things don’t change.”

“Guess not,” you’d said. “I’m just lucky Dad was too sentimental to sell the house, so I don’t have to pay for an overpriced hotel whenever I’m home.”

The silence that had followed hadn’t been uncomfortable. It had been the kind of silence you only had with someone who already knew most of your stories.

When Bradley had pulled up in front of your childhood house, the porch light flickered on automatically. You’d forgotten how small it had looked, how the paint had peeled from the railing where you used to sit and talk with Maverick for hours on end.

Bradley’d cut the engine and turned to you.

“Thanks for the ride,” you’d said, because it had felt like the safe thing to say.

He’d nodded. “Anytime.”

You’d unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t move. Bradley hadn’t either.

“So,” you’d said, “Top Gun.”

Bradley had smiled faintly. “Yeah. Guess I finally made it.”

“You always were the overachiever,” you’d teased.

“One of us had to be,” he’d teased you right back.

You’d rolled your eyes. “Hey, I got into college! I just decided not to go.”

Bradley had chuckled, and for a second, you’d seen the boy who used to sit on that same porch with you every summer. He and Carole used to make their way down from Virginia every year when you were growing up, and the two of you were always thick as thieves.

The memory had tugged at something in your chest. You’d cleared your throat. “You look good, Bradley.”

“Thanks,” Bradley had said quietly. “You too.”

You’d meant to leave it at that, but the way he’d said it had made your pulse jump.

He’d leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the steering wheel. “You ever think about those summers? The ones before—everything?”

“All the time,” you’d said before you could stop yourself.

Bradley had nodded once, eyes flicking down, then back to yours. “I missed you,” he’d said simply.

The words had hit like a wave. You’d imagined Bradley saying them for years, but now that he had, you hadn’t known where to put the feeling.

“You didn’t have to disappear, you know,” you’d said. “When Dad pulled your papers, he didn’t mean for you to disappear from our lives.”

Bradley had exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat. “I know. But I couldn’t call you. Not then. I was so angry; at him, at myself, at the universe. I didn’t want you caught in the middle.”

“You didn’t even give me a choice.”

His jaw had tightened. “You were still in high school. I was eighteen and angry at the world. You had your own life to figure out. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You’d laughed softly, without humour. “You always think you’re doing the right thing.”

Bradley had looked at you then, and for a second, you’d seen every year that had passed between you. He might have looked the same, only broader and tanner, but Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t the naive eighteen-year-old he’d been ten years ago.

“Let me walk you to the door,” Bradley had said, because no matter how much time had passed, Carole had raised him to be a gentleman.

He’d got out of the truck and come around to your side, opening the door for you. It had been such an old-fashioned gesture that it made you laugh, but the sound broke halfway out of your throat. You’d stepped out and headed for the porch together.

The boards had creaked softly beneath you, and Bradley had come to a stop as you’d fished your keys out of your bag.

“Well,” you’d said, “this is where you say goodnight and make me regret every life choice that led to this moment.”

Bradley had smiled that familiar half-smile you’d heard through the phone every few days. “Something like that.”

He’d taken a step closer. The space between you had seemed to shrink without either of you deciding it should. For a second, neither of you had spoken.

When Bradley had reached out, his hand hesitated in midair before finding your face. His thumb had brushed along your cheekbone, the touch feather-light, almost reverent. 

Bradley’s voice had dropped, rough at the edges. “For what it’s worth, you are the most amazing person I know.”

You hadn’t answered. You couldn’t. You’d only tilted your chin up, and he’d leaned in at the same time. No hesitation now.

The kiss had been slow, too careful, like you’d both been afraid to break whatever fragile thing had survived all those years apart. Bradley’s hands had found your waist—tentative at first, then sure—and you’d sunk into the warmth of him.

When you’d finally pulled back, your heart was pounding so hard you could barely hear yourself think.

Bradley had looked a little dazed. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Two years?” you’d said. 

That had been when you’d noticed a shift in your phone calls. You’d been travelling the world, Bradley’d been trying to prove he deserved to be sent to Top Gun, and things didn’t feel so platonic anymore.

He’d grinned, soft and knowing. “Two years.”

You’d smiled back. “Go before I talk you into staying.”

“I’ll bring you coffee and pastries tomorrow morning,” Bradley had promised, still grinning.

Then he’d walked down the path to his truck. You’d watched him go, his figure lit briefly by the headlights as he started the engine. He’d waved once through the open window before pulling away.

The sound of the engine had faded, leaving the street quiet again.

And for a second, you saw another version of him in the same spot—a year later, walking away from the same porch, but with his jaw set and his eyes red from crying.

You’d watched him go then, too. But that time, he didn’t look back.

You blinked, and it was gone. Just Bradley again; older now, standing in your newly sage green room. He was still the person who’d known you when you thought you had the whole world figured out.

“Hey,” he said quietly, tilting his head. “You okay?”

You nodded too fast, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Bradley smiled a little. “Dangerous habit.”

“Tell me about it.”

You both stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the wall like it held the answers to things neither of you was brave enough to ask.

You had never been the type to throw a housewarming party, but a ladies’ night felt doable. Low-stakes controlled chaos. You unpacked the last of your boxes that morning and figured it called for celebration. 

So you texted Phoenix and Halo. By eight o’clock, there were two bottles of wine open, pizza boxes on the counter, and a shuffling indie playlist in the background.

Halo sat cross-legged on your rug, her hair in a messy bun and her phone halfway across the room because she kept getting work calls. Phoenix had claimed the end of your couch and was already halfway through her second glass of rosé, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under her.

Your little apartment smelled faintly of pizza and garlic bread. You’d lit a candle on the coffee table for ambience, but now the wax had melted into a crooked puddle.

“So,” Phoenix said, pointing her wine glass at you, “how’s it feel being back? You’ve been here what, five months?”

“Six,” you said. “And surprisingly not miserable.”

“‘Surprisingly’?” Halo echoed, grinning.

You leaned back into the cushions. You could feel the wine in your cheeks, warm and loose, making honesty come too easily. “I’ve always wanted to get out of North Island. Like, the second I was old enough to dream about leaving, I was halfway gone in my head.”

Phoenix arched an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“Not bad,” you said quickly. “Just… limiting. My dad’s great, he really is. But his great love has always been the sky, you know? Flying, teaching, all of it. And that comes with a certain lifestyle. Constant motion, waiting on calls, never really belonging to yourself. I spent my whole life watching him break the rules and still have to bend to someone else’s orders, and I swore I’d never do that.”

Halo poured herself another glass and nodded slowly. She shifted closer, her knee brushing your leg. “So you ran.”

You smiled. “Constantly. I was the ‘anywhere but here’ girl. New cities, short leases, jobs I didn’t care about. I convinced myself that if I kept moving, I’d eventually land somewhere that felt right.”

“And now?” Phoenix asked.

You hesitated, swirling your wine like it might spill if you said too much. “Now I don’t want to run. For the first time ever. Which is… weird.”

Halo tilted her head. “Weird how?”

You thought about it for a moment. “It’s kind of a relief, honestly. I like my job, I like my apartment, I even like that I can walk to the beach in under ten minutes. But it’s also a little scary. If I’m not running, what am I doing?”

Phoenix gave you a look that said she’d already guessed the answer. “Maybe you’re staying for a reason.”

You caught her smirk and groaned. “Oh, don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Phoenix said, all mock innocence. “Certain people seem to be one of the reasons you want to stick around.”

“‘Certain people’ who go by chicken-related callsigns?” Halo added, and Phoenix snorted.

You groaned. “Not this again.”

Phoenix grinned into her glass. “Come on, it’s so obvious! You and Rooster have been orbiting each other since you arrived. Everyone sees it.”

“Everyone?” you asked.

“Everyone,” Halo confirmed. “He looks at you like he’s trying not to. Which, honestly, makes it so much more obvious.”

You laughed softly, though something in your chest tightened. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, your stomach fluttering with nerves. “You’re both reading too much into it. We’re friends.”

Phoenix leaned forward. Her voice dropped, low and sure, her eyes steady on yours. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. Friends don’t fix your shower head without being asked, or volunteer to pick up IKEA furniture over an hour away. I think the two of you are more than friends.”

You smiled, a little sadly. “Not so much. We, uh, used to date, though.”

For a second, both women blinked at you like you’d spoken in a foreign language. Then Phoenix choked on her wine, coughing into her hand as Halo’s eyes went huge. Her hand shot out, gripping Phoenix’s arm like she needed something to hold onto.

“I’m sorry, what?” Phoenix said once she recovered.

Halo’s jaw dropped. “You dated Rooster?” Her voice came out an octave higher than usual, and she squeezed Phoenix’s forearm for emphasis.

“Back when he first got sent to Top Gun,” you said. “I moved into my childhood house for a year, got a job waitressing in the next town over, and… yeah. We dated. I must’ve been twenty-four, Bradley twenty-eight.”

Phoenix straightened on the couch, her glass halfway to her lips and forgotten. “Hold on. That year? I was at Top Gun with him. He never said a word.”

You shrugged. “We weren’t exactly shouting it from the rooftops.”

Halo let out a scandalised gasp. She twisted toward Phoenix, and the two of them started hitting each other’s arms out of excitement. 

“Oh my god,” Halo exclaimed. “That’s why he used to skip out on bar nights?! We thought he was just being old and boring.”

Phoenix let out a snort, shaking her head. “You’re telling me I sat across from that man every day for months and he never once mentioned he had a girlfriend?”

You nodded, smiling a little at the memory. “He’d drive out to see me after training. We’d grab dinner or sit on the porch and talk for hours. Sometimes he’d stay the night if he didn’t have early drills. We decided not to tell anyone.”

Halo blinked, her expression softening as the air shifted. Her hand fell from Phoenix’s arm. “Why not?”

Your throat was tight, the words catching halfway up. Phoenix’s gaze softened when she noticed. Her hand settled over yours. You took a sip of wine before answering.

“My dad was still a taboo subject back then,” you confessed. “And I’m not a local celebrity, but being Maverick’s daughter means I’m a familiar face on North Island. We knew word would get back to him if people found out—or at the very least back to Uncle Ice. Besides, Bradley was in the middle of Top Gun, and I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. It was supposed to make things simpler.”

Phoenix snorted. “Sounds simple,” she said sarcastically. Halo gave her a nudge, a silent reminder to be gentle.

You smiled. “Yeah, we really nailed that part.”

The humour in your voice faded a little. “It was a good year, though. He was the perfect boyfriend—thoughtful, steady, stupidly chivalrous. He’d make me coffee in the morning and kiss my hand before he left for work. He’d tell me about flying without realising his whole face changed when he talked about it. I really loved him. But…”

“But?” Halo prompted hesitantly. Phoenix exhaled quietly beside her.

You sighed. “But he was always going to belong to the sky. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be someone waiting for the next deployment or living by his schedule. I wanted to travel, to work, to not feel like I was stuck in my childhood house lying to my dad about who I was dating. We were in completely different places. So I left.”

Phoenix watched you for a moment; her usual sharpness softened. “Did he know you were going to?”

You nodded. “We both did. We just didn’t say it out loud. One day he dropped me off after dinner, and that was it. He hugged me one last time, and we pretended we weren’t both crying. He walked down the path, got in his truck, and drove away. I was in Nevada by sunrise.”

For a long second, none of you spoke. The music hummed quietly from the speaker, a slow song. 

Halo reached out, her hand resting briefly on your knee. “Hey,” she said quietly. “That sounds brutal.”

You shrugged, though your throat felt tight. “It was a long time ago. Now we’re friends again. Or something close to it. We painted my apartment—thank you for abandoning me, by the way. I know a set-up when I see one,” you added, giving them a meaningful look. Phoenix and Halo didn’t even pretend to be ashamed. “We still hang out in group settings, and we never told my dad what happened between us. It’s easier than I thought it would be.”

“Except you still look at him like you used to,” Halo said, tilting her head and grinning.

You gave her a small, helpless smile. Your chest ached, a soft pull just beneath your ribs. “Yeah, maybe. But we’ve both changed. Things are different now.”

Phoenix set her glass down on your coffee table. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s still completely in love with you.”

You laughed softly. “You think everyone’s in love with everyone.”

“Maybe,” Phoenix said, grinning. “But I’m right about this one.”

The conversation drifted after that, back to work gossip and whether Halo should see her ex while she was in town.

You could still feel the warmth of their closeness long after the laughter faded. But the subject of your history with Bradley lingered long after they’d gone home, and the apartment was quiet. 

You stood by the sink, washing wine glasses. You’d spent years convincing yourself that staying meant settling. But now, standing there in your own little kitchen with three empty glasses and an ache in your chest, you weren’t so sure.

Your dad’s house still smelled the same. You’d expected it to feel different now that it wasn’t yours, but it didn’t. Just more lived in. There were photos on the mantel that hadn’t been there before, a new coffee mug beside the old ones, a few of Penny’s things scattered across the counter.

You heard them before you saw them, their voices mixing with the sound of the stove fan. Maverick was chopping tomatoes, Penny stirring something on the hob, both laughing at a story you couldn’t quite catch. 

You leaned against the doorway for a second and watched them. Your dad looked lighter than he used to, and so did Penny. A quiet warmth crept in and you were happy the two of them finally figured things out.

When they noticed you, you were smothered with hugs and affection until you pulled away, laughing. Penny finished up the pasta, Maverick opened a bottle of wine, and conversation flowed the way it always did when the two of them were together. You didn’t have to fill any silences or think too hard.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Can you grab that?” Maverick asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

You went to open it and stopped short when you saw Bradley on the porch.

“Hey,” he said, his voice even.

“Hey,” you said finally, your voice softer than you meant it to be. You smiled, because that’s what you’d always done around Bradley. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

Bradley shrugged, eyes flicking past you toward the kitchen. “Mav invited me. Guess he forgot to mention it.”

“Right.” You stepped back to let him in, trying to ignore the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the sea air. “Come on, they’re in the kitchen.”

He nodded, but his smile never reached his eyes. There was a tightness to him that hadn’t been there the last time you saw him. You told yourself it was nothing, but your pulse didn’t slow as you followed him inside.

Dinner didn’t go badly. If anything, it went almost too well. The four of you talked and laughed, the kind of easy rhythm you could fall into without thinking. You and Bradley had done this dance before; pretending you were just old friends, nothing more, nothing less. 

He sat across from you, relaxed enough to look natural. He passed you the parmesan, smiled when Penny teased Maverick, and joined in when your dad told stories from the hangar. You found yourself smiling back, and for a while, it felt like old times.

After dinner, you and Bradley both tried to stand, but Penny waved you down. 

“Absolutely not. You’re guests,” she said, already stacking plates. Maverick backed her up, grinning at your protests.

So you and Bradley ended up outside on the porch, on the same old bench that had been there since you were a kid. The wood creaked under your weight.

You sat with your hands clasped loosely in your lap. Bradley leaned back, one ankle crossed over the other, silent in a way that wasn’t quite comfortable.

“So,” he said eventually, his tone careful. “You told Phoenix.”

You turned your head toward him. “Told her what?”

Bradley gave you a look, eyes narrowing just slightly. “About us.”

You blinked, surprised. “Oh. Yeah, it came up.”

He let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t any humour in it. “You didn’t think to give me a heads-up before dropping that little piece of history into squad gossip?”

You frowned, sitting up. “It wasn’t gossip. It was just a conversation.”

“About something between you and me,” Bradley said, voice low but edged. His arms crossed over his chest like he needed somewhere to put the frustration.

You shifted slightly, mirroring the gesture without meaning to. “Bradley, it’s been eight years. It’s not like I was giving them details or spilling your secrets. We were talking; we’re friends.”

Bradley turned toward you fully now, eyes catching the light from the kitchen window. “You think I want everyone looking at me like some guy who couldn’t hold on to Maverick’s daughter?”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “That’s what this is about? What other people think?”

His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me sound shallow just because I care how it looks.” Bradley’s tone was clipped, defensive.

You exhaled, trying to keep your voice even. “I didn’t tell Phoenix and Halo to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said. His voice cracked a little on the words. “But it still did.”

That stopped you for a second. “Why?” you asked quietly.

Bradley looked at you for a long moment before answering, his fingers tapping once against his knee. “Because you didn’t just leave town back then. You left me too.”

You felt your throat tighten. “You were never really here, Bradley.”

His mouth pressed into a line. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You turned toward him, heat rising in your voice. “You were always chasing the next posting, the next mission, the next step. I couldn’t even get you to slow down long enough to talk about what you wanted for dinner without it turning into logistics.”

Bradley pushed a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. “I was trying to build something—to have a plan. That’s what people do when they care.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh. “You cared more about the plan than me.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t know what you wanted.”

“I was twenty-four,” you said, your voice rising. “I was still figuring it out.”

“And you decided you couldn’t do that with me around!”

“That’s not true!” You were on your feet now, before you realised it, pacing a few steps toward the railing. “I loved you, but I couldn’t keep being the girl waiting for you to come home.”

Bradley stood too, his voice rougher now. “You could’ve told me that.”

“I did,” you shot back. “You just didn’t want to hear it.”

Bradley let out a sharp exhale and turned away, hands on his hips. “You think it was easy for me? I had no one, alright? My mom was gone, Mav and I weren’t talking, and you—” He broke off, jaw tight. “You were supposed to be the one person who didn’t walk away.”

You stared at him, your chest tightened. “You’re kidding.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You think it was easy for me?” you said, your voice shaking. “Lying to my dad? Pretending I didn’t still talk to you, didn’t still—” You stopped, swallowing hard. “Don’t put it all on me.”

“I’m not putting it on you, I’m telling you how it was!” Bradley’s voice cracked with something raw. “You had a home here. You had Maverick—wherever he was deployed that year. You had people who actually gave a damn. I had empty apartments and transfer papers.”

“Yeah, I ‘had Maverick,’” you echoed. “Some relationship we had that year, what with me lying to him every day.”

Bradley’s mouth opened, then closed again. His jaw flexed. “I didn’t think you wanted to tell him.”

“He’s my dad,” you said, voice rising. “The only parent I’ve ever had. Deciding to lie to his face every time he asked if I’d heard from you wasn’t something I did lightly. But we agreed to keep it quiet, remember? You didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I was protecting you,” he said quickly, taking a step closer.

You gave a short, incredulous laugh. “No, you were protecting yourself. Protecting your perfect image, your golden-boy career, your chance to prove you weren’t just Goose’s son dating Maverick’s daughter.”

Bradley’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” you said, your voice shaking. “But it’s true.”

He groaned, frustration sparking again. “You think you were the only one carrying something? You had your dad—someone who was always in your corner. I had to do it all on my own.”

Your throat burned. “You had me!”

“Until I didn’t,” Bradley shot back. “Until you decided you couldn’t handle it anymore and ran.”

That one hit deep. Your arms crossed instinctively, a weak sort of shield. “You make it sound like I didn’t even try.”

Bradley’s voice rose. “You didn’t stay.”

You inhaled sharply, feeling your eyes sting. “And you didn’t even notice I was falling apart!”

He froze, chest rising and falling fast.

“I couldn’t breathe, Bradley,” you said quietly, voice breaking. “Do you know what that felt like?”

His expression softened for half a second, but then his shoulders straightened, defensive. “You were always the ‘anywhere but here’ girl,” Bradley said. “I should’ve seen it coming. You’ve been running your whole life.”

You took a shaky breath, blinking hard to keep your eyes clear. “And you’ve been chasing ghosts,” you said, voice low. “Your father, your career, whatever version of yourself you think you owe him. I wasn’t going to stick around and become everything I was scared of growing up—living life according to someone else’s orders.”

The words hung between you, heavy and hot. Neither of you moved for a long moment.

Bradley finally exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered. “That you ran. That’s not fair.”

You didn’t answer at first, watching the way his hand flexed at his side, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I was the one running,” Bradley said finally, quieter now. “From everything. Every mission, every deployment, every new posting—whatever kept me busy enough not to think.” He gave a small, tired laugh. “I thought if I just kept working, I’d never end up like my dad.” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “But I was scared all the time. Terrified, actually. Of chaos, of losing control, of you seeing me come apart.”

You turned toward him, your voice softening. “Bradley…”

“I didn’t want you to go through what my mom did,” he went on, voice rough. “The waiting, the worrying. I thought keeping it quiet would protect you. But maybe I was just protecting myself. Because if something happened to me, and you were still—” He stopped, clearing his throat. “I couldn’t live with that.”

You stood still for a moment, feeling the wind shift, the scent of salt in the air. “I knew all that,” you said quietly. “I knew why you did it. Why you pulled away.”

Bradley looked at you then, searching your face.

You gave a small, sad smile. “You weren’t the only one who was scared. I felt stuck. Living in my childhood home again, pretending I wasn’t lying to my dad every day… it was like being sixteen all over again, except worse, because I actually had something to lose.” 

You shook your head, the motion small. “Growing up with Maverick taught me to rely on myself, to move fast, to never get too comfortable anywhere. So when things started getting real with you, I panicked. I didn’t know how to sit still.”

Bradley’s expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “You thought if you kept moving, you wouldn’t need anyone.”

“Yeah,” you said, voice low. “And then you ruined that theory completely.”

That drew the faintest ghost of a smile from him. “You think I meant to?”

You huffed a small laugh, the tension easing between you. “Pretty sure you didn’t. You just existed, and that was enough.”

Bradley ran both hands over his face, dragging them down to his jaw. “You know, I thought I’d made peace with it,” he said. “I told myself I was over it. Then you moved home, and suddenly it all came flooding back like it never ended.”

You let out a slow breath, your heartbeat still loud in your ears. “Tell me about it.”

Bradley huffed a quiet laugh, then went still again. “You really didn’t mean to tell Phoenix?”

You shook your head. “No. I wasn’t thinking. It just came up, and I trusted her not to tell anyone. I guess I didn’t think she’d bring it up to you.”

“She told me we were being dramatic,” Bradley admitted, chuckling.

“She’s not wrong,” you said, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

That earned you a smile back—tired, but real. The tension between you eased, but it didn’t fade completely. Bradley looked at you again, softer this time. “You look different.”

“So do you,” you said, the corners of your mouth twitching. “In a good way.”

His brow lifted just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you.

You took a slow breath. “You know, I’m proud of you.”

Bradley blinked, caught off guard. “Of me?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “You worked so hard for everything, and you did it without a safety net. Without anyone really holding you up. You built the life you wanted from nothing, and that’s—” you exhaled softly, searching for the right word, “that’s brave. Doing it scared, doing it alone, is a hell of a lot braver than doing it with the kind of confidence someone like my dad has.”

His expression flickered, somewhere between disbelief and something warmer.

“I know your parents are proud of you,” you went on. “You did all the things you used to talk about when we’d sneak onto the tarmac and you’d point at the sky like it already belonged to you.” You smiled faintly, eyes unfocused for a moment. “You made me want to find somewhere that actually felt like home. And the only place that’s ever even come close was North Island, that year I was here with you.”

Bradley stared at you, silent for a long time. Then he leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if trying to get a handle on whatever was building in his chest. “You always did know exactly what to say.”

“That’s not true,” you argued softly.

He smiled at that, small and rueful. “You know what I always admired about you? How easily you fit in anywhere. You could move halfway across the country, not know a single person, and by the end of the week you’d have a new routine anda new friend group. I used to think that was your version of magic.”

You laughed under your breath. “It was survival.”

“Maybe,” Bradley said, eyes lingering on you. “But it’s also something I wish I had. I still have all your postcards. Philly, Austin, Chicago. I keep them in the top drawer of my desk, like little reminders that there’s more to the world than checklists and orders.” He hesitated, his thumb rubbing along the edge of his jaw. “You never settled for anything less than what felt right for you. And I think that’s what I learned from that year: if I could be just a little more like you, I’d be a much happier man.”

You smiled, small but real. “You do look happier. I’m glad I got to be a tiny part of that.”

Bradley looked at you for a long beat, eyes softening in the golden porch light. “For what it’s worth, you’re still the most amazing person I know,” he said quietly. “You were always so beautiful. You still are, more than ever.”

You smiled sadly, your shoulders lowering. “You’re the most amazing person I know too, Bradley.”

He laughed under his breath, then after a beat, said, “I missed you.”

You froze, every nerve in your body alert. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was low now, quiet in a way that felt dangerous.

“Because it’s not fair,” you said, breath unsteady. “You can’t just say that now.”

Bradley shifted closer, eyes flicking to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “You think I planned this?”

“I think you always have a plan,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

He smiled, small and tired, running a hand along his thigh. “Maybe this time I don’t. Maybe I’ve learned that not everything has to be perfect. That life with the people you love isn’t about checklists and timelines.”

You blinked at him. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” Bradley said, voice softening. “Being with you showed me I could let go a little. So, I’m taking the chance to tell you I still love you.”

The space between you shrank. You could see the faint crease between Bradley’s brows, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t know if he should.

“Bradley,” you said quietly.

He reached up anyway and brushed his thumb along your cheek. You tilted your head slightly, closing the tiny gap, your pulse pounding in your ears. His fingers slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your face closer, and you inhaled sharply.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” Bradley murmured before connecting your lips.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. The kiss started slow, tentative, but the second your lips moved, Bradley’s restraint shattered. 

His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and the rest of the world—the ocean breeze, the light streaming in from the kitchen window, the creak of the porch—faded out.

He groaned low in your mouth, and it made your knees weak. Teeth caught briefly on your lower lip, and you parted just enough for him to deepen the kiss, tilting his head so your mouths fit perfectly together. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin, was electric. 

You could feel the tension of the last eight years unravelling between you with every press, every gasp, every tiny, desperate shift closer.

Bradley’s hands moved to your waist, gripping the curve of your hips with a hunger that mirrored your own. You pressed against him, leaning into his warmth, letting yourself melt into the familiarity of him. It was reckless and indulgent and everything you’d wanted for ten years without ever saying it out loud.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bradley whispered between kisses.

You laughed, a soft, shaky sound, and kissed him again, harder this time. “I’ve been waiting—”

“For far too long,” he interrupted, nipping your jaw, then pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, gorgeous. But we’re here now.”

Bradley’s mouth moved over yours again, teasing then demanding, hands everywhere you wanted them. Your fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close, shocked at how easy it felt to lose yourself in him again.

His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He whispered your name against your skin, and it made something inside you shatter and mend all at once. 

“You’ve been mine all along,” Bradley murmured, voice urgent. “Even when we weren’t together, I still loved you. You were all I thought about, every single day, for ten years.”

“I love you,” you breathed, cutting him off with another deep, desperate kiss. “I always loved you.”

When you finally broke apart, gasping, you rested your foreheads together, both of you laughing breathlessly. Bradley’s hands stayed on your waist, yours on his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice ragged.

“I’ve missed you too,” you breathed back, and it was impossible to say whose smile was brighter.

Inside, Penny froze mid-step, dish towel in hand, staring out the window. 

“Are they—” she started, eyes wide as she watched you and Bradley tangled together on the porch. “Are they kissing?”

Beside her, Maverick leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a grin slowly spreading across his face. 

“Did you—?”

“Of course I knew,” he said smugly. “Ice and I had a long-running bet about when they’d get back together.”

Penny tore her gaze away from the window to stare at him. “You’re kidding.”

You let out a puff of breath and look over at Javi who was sitting on your left today. Jake was directly in front of you, though he’d turned back a few times during the spiel. You could see the tension in Nat’s arms as she shifted from across the aisle and one row up.

And then Rooster cut in, he was directly across the aisle from you, both of you still tense from how the dogfighting drills the other day had gone.

“That’s because the enemy knows no one is insane enough to try and fly below them,” he huffed, and you knew in that second, that’s exactly what this mission was going to ask.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to train you to do,” you dad says and you scoff slightly to yourself.

“Of course,” you mutter, it’s quiet so no one else hears it, except Javi, who shares another cautious look with you in response, seems like he had the same pit in his gut too.

“On the day, your altitude will be 100 feet, maximum,” your dad informs you are, and there’s a hushed whisper that befalls you all. You see how ‘Nix and Bob turn to each other, and can hear the murmur from Brig and Logan who were in the row behind Rooster. “You exceed this altitude,” your dad continues, and the radar on the screen beeps, “radar will spot you, and you’re dead.”

You watch as the SAMs target the jet in the display and that beeping immediately sets you further on point.

“Your speed will be 600 knots, minimum,” your dad tacks on.

“Shit,” you whisper and Javi nods.

“Shit,” he agrees.

The timer reappears on screen as your dad gives you the last parameter, “time to target will be 2 minutes,” and you almost choke on your breath. “That’s because fifth-generation fighter wait an air base nearby,” your dad supplies as if he could sense your unease with his back turned. “In a head to head with these planes in your F-18s, you’re dead. That’s why you have to get in, hit your target and be gone before these planes even have a chance of catching you.”

The screen changes again, “This makes time your greatest adversary,” your dad repeats and you shake your head, clicking your pen as you start scribbling down thoughts based off the parameters. “You’ll fly a route in your nav system that simulates the canyon. the faster you navigate this canyon, the harder it’ll be to stay under the radar of these enemy SAMs. The tighter the turns, the more intensely the force of gravity on your body multiplies, compressing your lungs, forcing the blood from your brain, impairing your judgement and reaction time,” he explains and your hand subconsciously grips at the edge of the seat in front of you.

You’re vaguely aware of how Jake shifts his arm, so your fingers can brush against him, but you’re more focused on keeping the disbelief and nerves off your outward appearance.

“So, for today’s lesson, we’re going to take it easy on you,” your dad smirks. “Max ceiling: 300 feet. Time to target: three minutes.”

There’s nothing easy about that, you want to say, but you know better, you know that with the time crunch, and with what this mission called for, giving you any breathing room during training was a mercy.

“Good luck,” your dad says finally, and for the first time since starting the briefing today, he meets your eyes directly.

…

You’re anxious as you watch. An itch starting to form as you sit there. Coyote, Bob, and Phoenix were the first group up, and you were all listening on the tarmac. Mav had made it clear, there’d be a debrief at the end of each round. Wanting us all up in the air and able to make it through a round first.

“Time to target is one minute thirty, we are two seconds behind,” Bob’s voice crackled and you sat in your jet, waiting was always the worst, you decide. “Increase to 480 knots,” he instructs.

“We got to move, Coyote,” Phoenix tags on.

“Copy. Increasing speed,” Coyote confirms.

You’ve got the radar on your nav, watching the two jets move through the canyon. So you see as Javi shoots forward just to slow abruptly.

the “Shit!” that comes from Phoenix is proof enough she hadn’t anticipated, and you watch as she avoids crashing into Javi by pulling up, over the ceiling.

“Why are they dead?” your dad had asked, focusing on Javi, who looked too solemn in his seat beside you. “We broke the the 300-foot ceiling, and a SAM took us out,” Phoenix answers. “No,” your dad dismisses, looking back at Coyote. “Why are they dead?” he presses again. “I slowed down, and I didn’t give her a warning,” Javi admits and that uncomfortable itch returns. “It’s my fault,” he adds, and you look at your friend who seems to be overly tense. “Was there a reason you didn’t communicate with your team?” you dad asks. “I was focusing on-” Javi had begun but it’s clearly not what your dad wanted. “One that their family will accept at the funeral,” he asks and you let out a punched sound. It was something you all actively avoided talking about, the idea that in a few weeks one or more of you may not be here anymore, that theres a chance you’d have to attended each other’s funeral services, have to look each other’s family’s in face knowing why their loved one was dead. “None, sir,” Javi says, sitting straighter, and you very subtly bump your shoulder with his in concern, but Javi doesn’t respond, keeping his gaze focused on Maverick. “Why didn’t you anticipate the turn?” Your dad continues, this time focusing on Phoenix. “You were briefed on the terrain.” As Phoenix opens her mouth, searching for the words your dad cuts her off too. “Don’t tell me. Tell it to his family.” You don’t miss the look Nat gives her wizzo in response, despair and guilt all wrapped up together.

…

“Hangman, ease up. The canyon’s getting tighter,” Payback’s request is intersped with heavy breathing.

You were fiddling with your gloves as you listened, still on the ground, while Payback and Fanboy took a run with Hangman. Fritz, Omaha, and Halo hadn’t had any luck in the round before, Fritz had gotten too close too the ceiling and dipped down too far as a result, not yet used to how low the hard deck was paired with the low ceiling.

“Negative, Payback. Increase your speed,” Hangman shoots back and you watch as his jet accelerated, but Ruben and Mickey’s doesn’t.

You have to swallow the lump in your throat. You know how Jake got his callsign, you know why. You just always had such a hard time connecting the two personas that normally appeared as different people. Jake versus Hangman. Part of you was irked, because the stakes were too high to leave your wingman behind, but part of you understood, as guilty as it made you feel. The stakes were too high, not to make it to the target on time too. A prisoner’s dilemma, you decide, I wonder which circle of hell Dante’s got for us now?

“You’re going too fast, man,” Payback shoots back and your thoughts are brought back to the radar.

“Well, no harm in being ahead of schedule,” Hangman shoots back.

You can see the way Nat’s shaking her head from where she, Bob, and Coyote are sat on the tarmac. A tablet with the radar screen in front of them as they watch. Too anxious to sit in the hangar with the rest of us still yet to take our turns. Fritz, Omaha, and Halo were shedding a few layers as they joined them as well.

“Damn it, slow down!” Payback shouts, and you wince at the tone. “I can’t stay on the course!” he admits, and you feel the nerves bubbling again. The speed your dad wanted, the lack of space for mistake, it wasn’t a pretty combination.

“Ah! You’re gonna hit the wall! Watch out! Watch out!” Fanboy’s shouts force you to close your eyes and throw your head back against the seat.

You hear the radar and you don’t have to look to know their run is done.

“What happened?” Maverick asked, and you swallowed. Payback and Fanboy were sitting in the row behind you, and Jake was right in front of you. The tension was heavy. Had been since you all came back. Having to listen to yourselves and watch the radar reconstructions didn’t help. “I flew as fast as I could. Kinda like my ass depended on it,” Jake shrugs. You can see the movement of his shoulders and have to bite your lip before saying something you really shouldn’t. Before asking him why he was being like this? Asking if he’d actually do that during the mission? If he’d risk everyone else’s lives and even the success of the mission to prove he was the best? You didn’t want to know the truth. “And,” Rooster cut in. “You put your team in danger, and your wingman’s dead,” he scoffs. “They couldn’t keep up,” is all Hangman offers in response and even Javi winces at the tone.

…

You got paired with Shadow and Lucky. They were good, strong fliers. You’d never worked with them before this detachment. But Shadow was a damn good flier, able to keep pace, and Lucky seemed to have a sixth sense on him.

You and Shadow communicated pretty well, but you let the nerves catch up to you. The pit in your stomach making you think you had to speed up more.

You did, you were about 100 knots short of the parameter minimum.

“Increase speed to 600 knots,” you finally decide.

“You have to pace yourself, Athena. Go to 550 first,” Lucky advises.

You should have listened.

“No, we’re moving too slow, we’ll miss the window. Increase to 600,” you negate, increasing your speed.

Shadow, to his credit, kept up. But the speed paired with the ever narrowing canyon and a particularly sharp turn put too much pressure on you, a level of Gs you hadn’t prepared for, and you lost control, having to go above the ceiling in an attempt to avoid the wall, a fail.

“Fuck!” the curse is loud, but neither Shadow nor Lucky say anything about it until you’re on the ground.

“I would’ve made the same call,” Shadow offers.

His callsign you’d noticed was more than his ability to keep pace with anyone, but more to do with the fact that he was a man of little words.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” you argue, dismissing the sympathy.

“Athena-” Lucky’s ready to interject.

“No, Shadow would have listened,” you tell them and both men fall quiet, you were right. “I should have listened,” you say next, voice vulnerable, offering an apologetic look to Lucky.

“It’s only the first run, you won’t miss it twice,” is all Lucky says in response, patting your shoulder.

“Why are you dead?” You notice he’s asking you but his eyes are focused past your head. There’s an uncomfortable tension that’s settled over all the Naval Aviators in the room. You know why. Maverick is the teacher, and he’s been asking the same question (which is still giving you phantom hives) but everyone knows he is your dad too. “Why are you dead, (y/-” he cuts himself off, “Lieutenant Mitchell,” he finishes instead, and you can understand his need for some sort of separation. “We were moving too slow, we had to speed up, she made the right call,” Shadow defends and briefly your fathers eyes flicker to the other pilot and Wizzo who were seated in the last row across the aisle. “And yet, she’s dead,” your dad repeats. “That’s the expected result, isn’t it?” you ask. And finally your dad seems to pause, everyone does. “This mission, the parameters. We’re only in phase one and it’s pushing everything we’ve ever been taught. That’s why they chose us. Someone’s not coming home, but you have to make sure we at least meet the objective before that,” you lay it out, everything you’ve put together over the last few days. It’s not fair to press it with your dad, you know that. You’d been able to read him and everything he wasn’t saying, better than anyone else. You knew enough to read between the lines. If he was focusing on why the pilots died, it’s because according to the brass, that was an acceptable outcome. “Why are you dead?” he asks again, his voice gravelly, as he stares at you. It has the same result as when he told Javi to tell Phoenix and Bob’s families, because this is it. How do you explain to your dad why you’re dead? The United States Navy, you want to say. It’s not a patriotic thought at all, and you have to swallow it down, you chose the Navy. “I was too worried about making the time, and I ignored the advice of my Wingmen,” you admit, you hear the choked sound Javi makes from beside you. Admitting your faults today had been a quiet task, but you were willing to put it out there, you had to put it out there. “It won’t happen again,” you add for good measure, and you make eye contact with Lucky and Shadow as you say it, both of them offering you a nod in solidarity.

…

Hearing Harvard and Yale get paired up with anyone but you always left you put out. You knew you worked well with them. Nine times out of ten if was guaranteed results. Hearing Harvard and Yale get paired with Rooster made you exceedingly nervous. Your fidgeting had gotten worse as you sat and watched their run. This was the last pair though, the last group in this first round, none of you had been successful in even completing the run, let alone making it to the target on time. There was an underlying level of tension to the entire flight, and then they started shouting. You were now sat on the ground with everyone else, your head laying on Phoenix’s thigh as you listened, and stared at the sky, imagining the route and the fliers in the air.

“Rooster, we’re 20 seconds behind and dropping!” Harvard shouted.

“We’re fine. Speed is good,” Rooster negated.

“Increase to 500 knots!” Yale argues.

Rooster is as dismissive as before, “Negative, Yale. Hold your speed.”

“Rooster, we’re late!” Yale argues, tone edging with something more aggressive.

“We’re alive. We’ll make up time in the straightaway,” Rooster says, but looking at the radar, the timer, and the route you knew they wouldn’t.

“We are not gonna make it,” Harvard disagrees, voicing your thoughts.

“Just trust me!” Rooster shouts, and you wince. They wouldn’t, not fully at least, and it was entirely out of loyalty to you, not that you’d ever asked that of them, but they stood firm with it regardless. “Maintain your speed. We can make it.”

…

They didn’t make it, at least not on time.

The longer you sat in the seats the more the phantom itch persisted. It was growing unbearable at this point, and then your knee started bouncing. A nervous tick you normally worked hard to keep at bay, and based off of Javi’s side eye he noticed it.

Watching the growing tension between your dad and Rooster was only adding to your nerves.

Worse, even, was the question, why are you dead?

“Why are you dead?” the question was definitely starting to give you hives, the more you heard it. “You’re team leader up there. Why are you, why is your team, dead?” Maverick’s pushing, you can see the war in both of their eyes, and your knee keeps bouncing in response to your nervous energy.

“Sir, he’s the only one who made it to the target,” Phoenix defends, and Javi places a hand on your knee to stop it, giving you a careful look as his gaze jumps from you and then back to the mess unfolding before you.

“A minute late,” your dad sighs. “He gave enemy aircraft time to shoot him down. He is dead.”

Your eye twitches at the idea of Bradley dead.

“You don’t know that,” Bradley argues.

“You’re not flying fast enough!” Jake cuts in, and you want to interject, you want to tell him to please keep your mouth shut. “You don’t have a second to waste,” Jake adds.

“We made it to the target,” Rooster argues.

“And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out,” your dad and Rooster are locked on each other now, arguing, it was just like the dogfight, but at least this time they both had their feet on the ground.

“Then it’s a dogfight,” Rooster decides with a level of seeming unflappability that you had not been expecting nor had you been prepared for.

“Against fifth-generation fighters?” your dad’s tone is incredulous.

“Yeah!” Bradley doubles down and you balk. “We’d still have a chance!”

No, we wouldn’t, you can’t help but think.

“In an F-18?” your dad presses, but you know Bradley won’t backtrack now, they were both too stubborn, too hurt, to give the other enough grace.

“It’s not the plane, Sir, it’s the pilot,” Bradley shoots back and you wince, fingers gripping back to Jakes seat, fingers pressing into the fabric, and curling, one pinching the material on the arm of Jake’s flight suit as well.

“Exactly!” Mav confirms and a silence falls, the hurt in Bradley’s eyes is unmistakeable. And you feel like you’re fifteen all over again, like you’re standing in the rain, trying to talk to him, trying to bring him home as he finally breaks and tells you what your dad had done.

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission,” Rooster argues, resolute, his tone quiet once again.

“You really don’t get it,” Jake drawls and you let go of his seat in an instant, knowing whatever was about to follow was going to make it all worse. “A man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come home,” he states clearly, voice level, and tone low, a slight southern drawl as he turns to look over his shoulder at Bradley. “No offense intended,” he adds, winking at Phoenix, and your stomach turns.

She discreetly flips him the bird, adjusting her hair, while Bob speaks up in her defense, “yet somehow, you always manage,” he states flatly.

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize,” Hangman shrugs, and your eye twitches again, because yes, yes he did mean to criticize. “You’re conservative, that’s all.”

“Lieutenant-” Maverick’s voice holds a warning, but it’s weak, and you realize he’s just as helpless to watch the fallout as everyone else.

“We’re going into combat, son, on a level that no pilot’s ever seen, not even him. That’s no time to be thinking about the past,” Hangman continues, and your gaze flickers to your dad and watch the slight flinch he lets slip.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rooster’s tone is equally testy and your knee is bouncing again, this time, Javi doesn’t say or do anything.

“Rooster-” Maverick’s voice is soft in comparison, as he makes another weak move at diffusing the situation.

“I can’t be the only one who knows that Maverick flew with his old man,” Hangman says, and your whole body shifts, breath catching in your throat.

“That’s enough,” Maverick interjects, a bit more firm, and your eyes couldn’t decide where to focus, jumping between the three.

“Or that Maverick was flying-”

“Lieutenant that’s enough.”

“When his old man-”

You hear it as the seats shift, Rooster’s out of his, and Jake follows suit.

Your dad is shouting again, “That’s enough!” but no one is listening.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Bradley shouts and it kicks your body into gear.

Jake’s got this stupid show smirk on his face, and it all happens in slow motion as your surge forward, Coyote behind you. Javi reaching for Jake while you step in front of Bradley.

This is a moment, you realize, one that will haunt your dreams tonight, one that you’ll be thinking of in the back of your head in every interaction with Jake and Bradley going forward. You know it is, because Jake knows there’s a history between you and Brad, and you realize that he probably thinks that maybe what he’s now learned about Rooster’s dad plays a role, and you realize you should have said something, because if he was willing to get testy in a bar for you, you should have realized he’d take it as far as he deemed necessary as well.

Jake to his credit is wearing that smirk as you hold a hand up to Rooster, who’s body freezes at the sight of you.

What Jake was not anticipating was the look of utter betrayal in your eyes. You catch the slight slip in his facade as he notices the way you’ve begun to close yourself off to him.

What Jake was not prepared for, was the violent flinch you’d reacted with when he brought up Bradshaw’s old man, he’d seen it in the corner of his eye but had been too focused on pushing Bradley’s buttons.

If he’d focused a little more he would have noticed the way your eyes flicked to your dad first and then to Bradley, as your forced yourself to your feet.

Now you’re stood between them. Bradley frozen but angry, and Jake curious and hurt at the distant look in your eyes, one that only softens when your gaze flicks to where your dad’s leaning heavily against his desk.

And that guts him a little. That look. It’s not angry, it’s not venomous, it’s just devoid, and he honestly doesn’t know what to do. He can fight with anger, he can fight with venom, he can even fight disapproval, but this he doesn’t know what to do, especially not on you.

You’re the one to stop Bradley. You don’t even have to put your hands fully on him. It’s just a palm near his chest, but Bradshaw freezes when he realizes who is blocking his path.

Jake keeps his persona is check though, and saunters closer, pushing Javi’s grip off. He meant to lean in, to say something else, he manages a, “I’m cool, I’m cool. Hey! Hey!” as he shrugs off hands as he moves closer.

“That’s enough!” Maverick’s echoing the same words, as if not sure what else he could offer, each repetition meaning less and less.

But he gets stopped when a hand pushes him back. He’d anticipated Rooster to surge forward, maybe even take a swing, and wouldn’t that be something? To finally get him to act instead of freeze? But you’re the one to react with those empty devoid eyes.

Using your other hand you firmly push Jake back. It’s not an inherently violent move but it does surprise Jake, far stronger than what he’d been anticipating and leaving him entirely lost, why the fuck were you suddenly protecting Bradley Bradshaw?

A glance around shows he’s not the only one caught off guard.

The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know. Even Phoenix seems thrown by the 180 you’ve pulled, by the pilot you’re protecting.

Did you really think she’d protect you after bringing up her dad’s dead wingman? a voice in the back of his head asks, one that sounds a lot like his sister, but he ignores it, like he normally does.

“He’s not cut out for this mission-” Jake finally says, squaring his jaw.

“That’s enough,” Maverick repeats again.

“-you know it,” Jake adds. He then puffs up a bit, “You know I’m right,” he adds on, eyes lingering on you.

“You’re all dismissed,” Maverick manages to spit out and you’re still standing protectively in front of Bradley, eyes hard, glaring at anyone who steps too close. Jake takes one more look, shaking his head before he stalks off, Coyote in tow as he goes.

And then everyone is dealing with the fallout.

Fritz, Omaha, and Halo disperse quickly, not wanting to get caught up in anymore. Shadow and Lucky shoot you a look but follow after them. Harvard and Yale, however, hover. You shake your head, and hesitantly they leave, pulling Payback and Fanboy along with.

Nat opens her mouth and tries to say something but you cut her off before she can utter a syllable. “Go 'Nix, Brad and I are going to get some air,” you say seriously, and your voice is thick with emotion in a way she’s never heard from you.

You finally drop the hand that’s stayed up in front of Bradley, turning it and gesturing for him to move. He turns and walks, following the gesture you’d made directing him in the opposite direction of Hangman, not even hesitating after being queued by you. As soon as he starts moving you’re quick to follow. You leave Nat and Bob with one more firm shake of your head as if to say do not follow.

You shoot your dad another look as you pass him but he seems frozen. You keep your gaze on Bradley’s back as you slow, but your dad waves you off, his own gaze darting to Bradley, and you understand what he means without a word being uttered.

…

You and Brad find yourselves sitting on the tarmac under the shade of one of your jets, you’d allowed him to decide where to stop, and you weren’t going to complain. It’s hot. but it’s the only place that made sense. Where you could talk freely and no one would overhear, where you were away from everyone else.

Bradley’s quiet at first. For a long time you sit. You unzip your flight suit, you roll it down, and un tuck your tank top so you can catch a break from the heat. Bradley follows after your example but remains quiet for a long time. And then “You called me Brad.”

You don’t know what posses you, but with one of the meanest tones you can manage in the moment, you scoff, “That’s your name, dipshit.”

And Bradley smiles a little at that, because while it was mean, there’s no real heat in it. He’s familiar with the fire of your anger, been the root of it the last few days, but the way you say it, even with a mean tone there’s an echo of a familiar fond sarcasm, and so he can’t help the smile.

“You haven’t called me Brad since-”

“Since before you broke my heart and my trust,” you lament seriously. You lay it out flat and you see the way he shuts his eyes in response, the smile disappearing in an instant. Your lips twitch down, that wasn’t fair, not right now, at least. “Sorry,” you offer quietly, taking a deep breath and doing your best to reign it in.

“Don’t,” his voice turns rough. “Don’t apologize to me. We both know I don’t fucking deserve it.”

This time you’re the one to stay quiet, because well, he’s not wrong.

And for the first time since you’d been faced with Bradley in the flesh, you let yourself look. Truly look at him, taking in the differences and the similarities to the boy you knew.

He looks like the Goose from the photos in the hangar, the Uncle Nick, you never got to know.

It stays quiet again for a few minutes before Bradley lets out a sigh, “can I tell you something, personal, without you running?” he asks.

He doesn’t phrase it that way to be mean, you can tell, but you’re hit with a little pang just as well. You hesitate for a second before offering a curt nod.

“You were the first person I wanted to call, the day I started at UVA,” he admits and you let out a breath. “All I wanted to do was call you and tell you all about it and plan your fall break so you could come stay with me. I’d dialed your number before I paused and realized we weren’t speaking, and I think for the first time since that night in the rain, I finally realized what I actually lost. When I realized what I’d said and how it must have hurt, and how I’d ruined it all,” he’s talking, just talking now, as if now that he’s started he can’t stop.

You find yourself frozen as he does. He’s finally giving you the real answers, the things he never put in the emails, how he felt, when he realized, all the things you’d ever wondered when you found yourself thinking about it.

“And I figured it would fade. You know, because there wasn’t anything else, because I was supposed to move on. I was the one who walked away, the one who wrecked it, just like you said. I broke it, so I had to move on. But it never faded. And then another year had gone by and one day I’d gotten a box of stuff from one of my mom’s friends, stuff they found when they were moving, they got a hold of my information and got the box to me. And there was this picture-” Bradley pauses again, trying to collect himself, but when he looks back at you there is so much sincerity in his eyes that you have to look away.

He shakes his head but keeps going, “It had to be from one of the early summers. way before mom got sick, or at least before we knew about it, but there we were. Mom was on that awful orange sofa that you fucking loved taking naps on, that she refused to get rid of because it was Little Miss Mitchell’s Nap Couch, Bradley, don’t be so ridiculous,” it’s how he says it that drives home, because that’s exactly what she used to say, tone and all, whenever Bradley asked if they could get rid of the orange monstrosity that you had in fact loved the hell out of. “-And her head’s tilted back laughing, and she’s pointing at these two idiots who were messing around in front of her,” Bradley continues, and there’s a flicker of something deep in your mind.

From the before, the thoughts you kept for the joy, but locked away due to the melancholy that often accompanied them.

“A little boy, maybe eight, on the ground, and this tiny girl, no older than five, sat on top of him. she’s just sitting on his back, with her hands in her hair and a tub of hair gel on the floor while he messed around with a GameBoy. His hair is standing on a point, but the little girl’s got the biggest most infectious smile and so the boy’s smiling too,” Bradley’s voice has gotten thick and you have to blink a bit as your mind spirals down thoughts of the summers you spent in Virginia.

You start blinking quickly, when you have another realization, you had that memory. A different photo but the same day, the same memory, you didn’t remember Aunt Carole in it, but you remembered the rest. In your photo you were sat on Bradley’s back, hands in his hair with a mischievous smile while he smiled for the camera. It had always been one of your favorites. That was Brad, your Brad. The one who learned how to dutch braid after you mentioned you really wanted your hair in braids like his neighbor used to wear. He’d gone over to her house while you spent a week with Slider one summer, he’d spent nearly every day you were gone next door, learning how to do the braids. By the time you came back he was anxious to show you what he’d learnt in the week apart, they weren’t perfectly even, nor were they particularly neat, but you had looked at him with so much joy and happiness. He had been proud of himself, and his mother even more so. He’d mastered it before the summer was over.

You’re the best big brother, Brad, you’d told him later that night, and he let you sleep over in his room staying up past your bedtime playing cards together.

“I remember,” you finally whisper.

Bradley nods, and he runs a hand through his hair nervously, “I got the box, I saw that picture, and that was the first night I emailed you,” he admits. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t look at the photo and not try, I’d spent the last two years trying to move forward, but every single time I learnt something cool, or saw something funny, all I ever wanted to do was show you. Looking through the memories, and seeing so much of you, so much of my mom, I just. She would’ve been so fucking mad, so out of her mind pissed at me, for what I said, for how I treated you. I just. I wanted to try, for her. For you.”

His voice had gotten choppy at the end, he’s nervous, your mind supplies still aware of all his ticks. You’re quick to wipe away a tear before you looked down at your hands. There was a lift inside you. Something so deep and hurt that never healed properly, like only now someone had taken care of the part that was festering. It wasn’t healed, not even close, still raw and open, but it wasn’t throbbing, it wasn’t infected, not anymore.

“You…” you trail off, taking in everything he had said, and then you settle yourself on the one part that still didn’t make sense. The one part you couldn’t piece together, “why did you keep emailing?” your voice comes out in a rush, spitting them out to make sure you ask, that you don’t just chicken out.

“Because I fucked it up,” it’s so simple when he says it. His voice so open and raw. It’s exactly what you’ve been waiting almost ten years for. “I fucked it up, and those emails were all I could do at the time, they were all I could fucking manage. Which is so fucking pathetic, but I’m sorry,” he finally says and shit, you’re definitely crying now.

“I’m so sorry. For how I acted, for how I treated you. But more than all of it, I’m sorry for what I said. Because I know you, at least I knew you. I know you could’ve forgiven me for acting like an idiot. I know you could’ve forgiven me for shutting down. I know that you would've. But I said the things I knew you wouldn’t forgive and… and the worst part is I did it on purpose.”

You’re scrubbing at your face a bit furiously now, tears flowing, and it’s too public. You’re still on base, still sat out on the tarmac.

“Stop,” you finally say, because you can’t. You can't go back to that, not when your head's clouded with the moments of the past that had made the two of you who you were. you say stop because it was bordering on too much.

“I never should have brought your mom into it,” is what he offers up next, and you can’t help the aborted sob that slips out.

There it is.

The thing you could never bring yourself to forgive him for.

Your biggest insecurity.

Bradley was the only one you’d ever confided to about it.

Not Ice and Aunt Sarah

Not Slider.

Not Carole.

Not even your dad.

Just Bradley.

You’re working on wiping the tears away and you can see how Bradley’s still crying too when he opens his mouth again, “I know how much-”

And you finally snap, “No!”

You push yourself up to your feet and away from Bradley, but he’s quick to his feet too. “You don’t get to say you know how it feels, or how much it hurts! You were the only person in the world I trusted enough to share that with. The only person I ever even fucking told! You took my biggest insecurity, the thing that caused me the most heartache and you poked at it, until it was raw and bleeding everywhere!” your voice is raised, not shouting yet, but bordering on too loud.

Bradley makes a wounded sound in response.

“I never trusted anyone with that. Except for you. And I have never trusted anyone like that after either,” you tell him honestly.

And there are tears streaming furiously down Bradley’s face, even thought it’s dead quiet as you both just stare.

“I have to go,” you finally say, your voice small, breaking, but firm.

“(y/n), please—” he starts, and you nearly falter, nearly turn back to him, almost giving in. It’s the first time he’s called you by your first name since the Hard Deck the day you both arrived, and the sound alone makes your chest twist.

“No.” The word comes out sharper than you mean it to, but it feels necessary. “I’m… I’m sorry about what Jake said. He—he shouldn’t have said that,” you rush out, the memory of how flippantly he’d spoken of Goose stinging fresh in your mind. “But I can’t, Brad. I—it took years—I can’t…”

You trail off, offering a pained look, one that says everything words can’t, before you scramble back a few more feet. The heat of the tarmac hits your bare arms and shoulders, the sunlight washing over you like a cruel spotlight, and you can feel the sobs threatening again. You can’t—won’t—let them fall here. Not now. Not in the middle of base, not in front of all those walls, the orders, the eyes that might see too much.

Bradley doesn’t move. He watches you, frozen, and you know he wants to speak, to reach for you, but the space between you feels infinite. You glance back just once, taking in the look on his face: a mixture of raw hope, fear, and heartbreak. In someways it would be so easy to collapse into him, to let the years of grief and anger spill over, to let him hold the part of you you’ve kept protected for so long.

But you don’t. You can’t. Not now.

Turning fully away, you start walking toward the locker rooms, each step a little heavier than the last. The sound of your boots against the tarmac feels impossibly loud, echoing in your ears. Behind you, Bradley exhales—a slow, trembling breath—but he doesn’t follow. You don’t look back again.

...

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Rooster had come waltzing in a few moments ago, his baseball game having cut to a commercial break, and with one look at you buzzing around the kitchen with your hair messily pulled back against your head as you multitasked getting things prepped for tonight's dinner, had announced that he wanted to help.

To which you said absolutely not and he immediatley wanted to know why leading to the converstation you were currently having.

He grabbed at his chest, face twisting in offense, “Excuse you, for your information I am a fantastic cook. Carole Bradshaw insured that.” 

“And I have nothing but the utmost absolute faith in Aunt Carole’s abilities. What I don’t have faith in is your ability to pay attention and retain the knowledge of anything that doesn’t have to do with your F-18, Bronco or favorite sports teams.” 

“Are you calling me dumb Y/n Mitchell?” He accused.

“I never said that Bradley Bradshaw, I only meant that your talents and intelligence are more aptly applied in places that aren’t my kitchen.” You countered, putting emphasis on his name the way he did yours.

He stared at you for a moment, eyes playfully narrowed, trying to come up with good enough response to defend himself against your argument. He repeats your list mentally to himself; His F-18, his bronco, his favorite sports teams and...wait a minute-

Rooster's head cocked to the side and a smirk spread across his face as a thought suddenly dawned on him. You rose an eyebrow as he placed his beer down on the kitchen island and took a step forward crossing the distance towards you, “What are you doing?”

“You left something off that list,” he said softly, taking another step forward and pinning you to the counter with his hips. His hands went forward to rest on the edge of the marble on either side of your waist, leaving you with no where to go.

You furrowed your eyebrows and smiled in confusion up at him, “What?” 

His closeness was disarming and you never could think straight in his presence. Especially not with those dark brown eyes locked so intensely on yours, so your earlier argument had already slipped from your mind. 

“The list of things that you said I pay attention to and remember stuff about, you forgot something.” He repeated, breath fanning lightly across your face, “It's my F-18, my bronco, my favorite sports teams and you. I always pay attention to and remember anything to do with you baby.” 

Your breath hitched and you instantly became putty in his arms, heart melting right along with the rest of you. 

Your suddenly hit with the rush of an overwhelming amount of love for the man in front of you. Surging forward, you closed the small gap between you and brought your lips together in a passionate kiss. Your arms circled themselves tightly around his neck, spatula dropping forgotten to the floor, as you tried with every fiber in your being to express through your kiss just how much you freaking loved and adored him. 

The pair of you don’t separate until you both desperately need to breathe, gasping lightly as you do for air. Your arms remained in their locked postion around his neck, preventing him from putting any space between you, so he simply lowered his forehead to rest against yours, eyes falling shut. 

It’s silent between you for a few more moments as you basked in one another’s touch, breathing the same breath, before you break it by whispering, “I still don’t trust you in my kitchen.” 

Rooster doesn’t react at first but then suddenly he bursts into loud boisterous laughter. His head dropping down to your shoulder, body shaking against yours with the force of it.

He manages to recover a few seconds later and still slightly chuckling, squeezes your waist before lifting his head up and pressing one more soft kiss to your lips.

Rooster then proceeds to back away, freeing you from your postion pinned against the counter, and grabbed his beer off the island to return to his game. 

That’s how it has always been around your mother’s side. She met Mav when he was stationed in Florida, your mother on spring break from her junior year in college. She was barely old enough to drink, but they made quick enough conversation. He was still in his flight suit from work when she walked into the bar with the rest of her friends. Only looking for a little fun she quickly left them in the dust for the man behind the aviators. They spent the entire week together until she had to go back to Ohio. He gave her his number in case she ever found herself back in Florida, and that was it. That is, until about a month later after finals were over and she still had one test to take. It came back positive. 

Pete was thrilled to hear back from your mom already, hoping they’d be doing a different kind of catching up. Instead, he was met with the sound of your grandmother yelling at him through the phone. He didn’t hear much, but the few words and sentences he did catch were “pregnant”, “kill you”, and “my baby”, but to be honest he didn’t hear a lot after the first time she said pregnant. To be fair, your dad stepped up to the best ability the Navy would let him. He requested a transfer to be closer to the two of you, calling Carole for advice, and when you were born, she and Bradley even made the journey to see you.

Then there were the deployments. Everywhere he went, Mav seemed to piss off someone, whether it be his Captain, Admiral, or anybody above him who had the power to send him out, they did. Moving to Virginia, your parents tried for the first two years of your life. They really did. Your mother ended up dropping out of school to take care of you while your dad was away. Always citing the Navy for the reason their troubles began. When he was back they’d fight constantly, her saying he was always away, and him telling her that it was his job. She couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Thus started the arrangement you grew up with. Spending the school year with your mother, and the summers with your dad. Even if he had to leave in the middle, you spent the rest of your time with Carole and Bradley. A great reprieve from your mother’s side. Even from such a young age you felt bad taking away Carole from Bradley, learning guilt from your family very early on. There was one point when Pete was deployed when you were 8, Bradley 14, that you told him this. He told you he felt the same way about your dad and ended the conversation with, “We can share.”

You miss the times when you couldn’t wait to see the two of them. Which makes what happened last night even more bittersweet when you look back on it. Your dad didn’t even think there was conflict between you two, he just saw his kids talking again. That was enough for him. You didn’t even want to think about Carole right now. It always hurt, but knowing that her girl was fighting with her boy would have her smacking the both of you upside the head.

You could practically feel her in your brain the next morning. Either that or your head was pounding from all the tequila and lack of water in your system. From behind your eyelids you can tell the sun is just barely starting to come up. Damn that internal clock. You dare to move your face further into the pillow, but still completely at the feeling of something moving underneath your arm. Your hand lies curled into Bob’s side, the remainder of your arm resting over his stomach. You must have shifted in the night, you on your stomach, Bob’s hand now resting on your arm. His head facing toward you, eyes fluttering every couple of seconds, obviously in a deep sleep. He looks so peaceful like this, it almost stops your heart from beating out of its chest.

You take slow, measured breaths, praying you don’t wake him up. Not wanting to leave the only moment thus far that you’ve seen Bob completely at peace. Your eyes get caught wandering over the same few freckles across his nose and cheeks. As you admire the appearance of each dot, you are made painstakingly aware of how close your faces are. Your arm unintentionally flexes around his side and he takes a deep inhale. You close your eyes immediately, scared that you may have woken him up. His hand starts to smooth up and down your arm as you try to quiet your breathing. His hand abruptly stops in the middle of your arm as you feel his head lift from the pillow. You are trying your darndest to quiet your breathing all while your heart rate is skyrocketing. An impressive feat you are hoping Bob doesn’t catch on to. His head falls back to the pillow as you hear him let out a breath. He hasn’t dared to lift his hand from your arm quite yet, it still lingers, his fingers now tracing small shapes.

Oh god that was even worse. Feeling his hand wrap around your arm gave you butterflies. But now he was being so- delicate. Drawing deliberate shapes and patterns, none of which you could decipher. He was fully aware of what he was doing and now so were you. Your chest begins to feel light until the butterflies in your stomach are absolutely lurching. Wait, no you were going to be sick. Your eyes shoot open, alerting Bob, as you untangle yourself from the sheets and run toward the bathroom. Barely making it in time your stomach promptly evacuates whatever was left in there from last night. You can’t even hear Bob follow you in, but are made aware of his presence as he holds back your hair and rubs your back. Even as you’re puking up your guts, you take a moment to acknowledge just how touching the gesture is. And then you feel immediately guilty for letting Rooster get to you last night and ruining the plans you made with Bob.

Once you’re absolutely sure you’re finished, Bob helps you stand as your eyes meet in the mirror. He grabs your toothbrush, applying some toothpaste and handing it to you.

“You feeling ok?”, he asks as you begin to brush your teeth. You close your eyes and nod, not finding the strength to look at him quite yet. “Where do you keep your pain meds?”. You spit and rinse your mouth, continuing to lean over the sink.

“Cupboard to the left of the fridge”, you grumble. Just as soon as he’s gone, Bob reappears right next to you with a couple pills and a glass of water. You graciously accept the drugs and sip the water. You spare a glance in the mirror and catch Bob’s eyes. He had put his glasses on at some point, but was still sporting the sweatpants you lent him. It seemed weirdly intimate and almost fitting to see him in your clothes as well as in your bathroom. Oh god. This poor man had to put up with you all night and had to carry your drunk ass up the stairs. You place your hand over your forehead in embarrassment. “Oh god.”

“What’s wrong, you gonna be sick again?”, concern etches into his voice.

“No it’s not that. I’m just- I’m so sorry I ruined your night.”

“My night wasn’t ruined.” This has you opening your eyes once again and turning to Bob.

“How did I not ruin your night? You were supposed to go out and play pool, not carry your drunk coworker up the stairs and have to crash at her place.”

“Ok, first thing: If I recall correctly we did play pool. Number two: I offered to drive you home and then carry you up the stairs. And number three: I crashed here because I wanted to make sure you were ok. I didn’t feel right leaving you drunk and alone.” He seemingly and very purposefully left out the part where you practically begged him to stay in your bed. And you are grateful for that. The levels of empathy and generosity radiating from this man are astronomical. After getting through the exterior of anxiety and doubt, there is a big old softy in there.

“Well, thanks for doing all that. You didn’t have to.” You shyly offer. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I didn’t make sure you were taken care of.” You look up and share a small smile with him. Seemingly meeting your embarrassment and his kindness in the middle. But your head is still pounding as you wince at the light coming through the door. As if he could read your mind, Bob closes the blinds to your bedroom alleviating the pain slightly. “Let’s get you back to bed.” You blindly take his arm as he leads you to your bed once more, allowing you to get situated before he comes back. The bed dips as he sits next to you, “Fair warning, I’m gonna place this rag on your forehead, ok?”

“Ok”, you whisper. Bob gingerly smooths the cool rag over your head and places the glass of water on your nightstand.

“Now that I know you haven’t died during the night-”

“How can you be so sure? It doesn’t feel that way”, he lets out a small huff of laughter.

“Because you still have the ability to be a smartass. It’ll be a cold day in Hell when you don’t have a quick comeback.” You smile at his use of the word ‘smartass’. You want to take it with a grain of salt, but hope it means he’s more comfortable around you to finally swear.

“Robert, such language.”

“I know I know, just don’t tell my mama.” You open your eyes a crack at the use of his southern drawl, smiling. He’s smiling right back at you, breaking the contact finally as he clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get home to Sylvia. But I’ll be back later if you’re feeling better to go grab your car.” You reach out to grab the nearest thing to you, which happens to be his hand.

“Bob, I didn’t even think about my car. I am so sorry. I’ll just walk over there-”

“Hey it’s fine”, he squeezes your hand, “I only live about 10 minutes away, it’s not that big a deal.”

“After this you better be able to call me your friend. You took care of me while I was drunk and held my hair back as I puked. That’s as close as two people can be.” He smiles at your tired words. Of course he wanted to be your friend. He wanted to be more, but he would take anything you were willing to give him. And therefore what the Navy would allow. But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. It still baffled him why you would want to talk to him in the first place, but here you are. Bonding over the fact that he took care of you. It wasn’t even a question in his mind, he was always going to make sure you were ok.

“Of course you’re my friend”, taking a look down at your still connected hands he realizes all the compromising positions he’s put you in during the last 12 hours. Deciding this is still too intimate for friends, he slips his hand out of yours and stands. “I’ll be back later if you’re feeling up to it.”

“If you insist.” Bob grabs his pants from their folded position on your dresser as well as his phone, looking back to you for one last glance.

“Oh I do.” He taps the door frame, “Get some sleep.” Your eyes slip shut as you succumb to a sleep you would classify as coma-like. You don’t even hear the front door close, Bob being mindful and shutting it as quietly as possible so as not to disturb your headache further.

Bob couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face the entire drive back to his place. You wanted him to be your friend. You wanted to spend time with him. And more importantly, he would be seeing you again later. He didn’t even care he saw you throw up this morning, he still thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not to mention you were funny as hell and strong-willed. You didn’t back down when Rooster had confronted you, and you ended up beating him in pool, drunk. Thinking of how amazing you are had the smile slipping from his face. What exactly did you see in him? Even just as a friend, what could he have to offer you?

He all too soon pulls up to his driveway, noticing Phoenix’s car waiting for him. He furrows his brow, she never said she was coming over. He makes his way to the front door, unlocking it and walking in. He’s greeted by the sound of paws on the hardwood floor running towards him. Sylvia stretches her back legs jumping up on his chest.

“Hey girl!”He greets her with head scratches, gently resting her front back on the floor. Hearing him enter, Phoenix frantically rounds the corner and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god. Where the hell have you been?!” She looks him up and down once, face contorting in confusion, “And who the hell’s pants are you wearing?”

“I crashed with Mantis, she was pretty drunk and I didn’t feel right leaving her alone. Why are you here?”

“Because you haven’t answered your phone all night or this morning! I was worried about you.” Bob grabs his phone from out of the pocket of your pants, realizing he left it on do not disturb. There in all their glory are the missed text messages and calls from Phoenix.

“I’m sorry, I put my phone on silent so it wouldn’t wake Mantis up.” Phoenix smiles softly at the notion, but furrows her brow once more.

“Wait, where exactly did you sleep?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were afraid of your phone going off and waking her up that means you were pretty close.” Bob looks away and rubs the back of his neck. “Bob, answer the question.” The way she squints her dark eyes at him makes him realize she isn’t messing around.

“I was in her room.”

“Did you sleep on the floor?”

“No” He responds quietly, hoping she didn’t hear it. By the way her eyes widen and mouth drops he knows she did.

“BOB!” He quickly holds his hands up in surrender, attempting to clarify the situation.

“I only did because she didn’t want me to leave! I stayed on my side the entire time and I promise you nothing happened.” She huffs out a sigh.

“If Mav finds out you were in his house, in his daughter’s bed-” Bob’s face reddens at her implications.

“Phoenix! Oh my god! You’re making it sound like something it definitely wasn’t”, he rubs his face in his hands avoiding her gaze.

“All I’m saying is, you are literally in her pants right now.” He continues to hide in his hands while Phoenix snickers at her own joke.

“You should go.”

“Oh come on, you’re the one in her clothes! But if it’s making you uncomfortable I’ll stop.” He peeks through his fingers and realizes she’s being sincere. She hears a muffled “thank you” from him as she makes her way to the door. “Good to know you’re alive. We still on for brunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah I’ll be there”, Bob mumbles out, still embarrassed.

“Good, Rachel’s really excited to meet you.” Bob finally looks at Phoenix and smiles, noticing the love-stricken look on her face. 

“Well I’m excited to meet her, too.” Rachel and Phoenix have been going out for three months, Phoenix only now taking the initiative to introduce her to her friends. Not wanting to scare her off by bringing her by the Hard Deck. Last night only solidified that she was making the right choice in not doing so.

“See ya later!” she calls out, shutting the door behind her. Leaving Bob alone with Sylvia, he bends down and gives her all the attention she deserves. He takes her head in both his hands and scratches her ears.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here last night”, he says in the baby voice reserved only for her, “Daddy had to go take care of someone. I know, I know. Maybe you’ll meet her someday.” She cocks her head to the side. “But don’t get too attached, that’s gotta be my problem and mine alone.”

True to his word, after texting to make sure you were feeling ok, Bob came over to retrieve your car. After getting a few more hours of sleep and almost throwing up a couple more times, you were able to shower and down a few glasses of water. Then miraculously you put on some clothes and were attempting to do your hair as the doorbell rang. As fast as your legs let you, you cautiously walked down the stairs to open the door. Even with the pills you took earlier this morning, you were still feeling lightheaded. Not even attempting to eat anything after Bob had watched you at your not-so-finest moment.

You open the door and there’s Bob in all his coiffed hair and wire frames glory. Sporting another t-shirt that wraps perfectly around his biceps as well as jeans that hug his legs just right. You really wish you were a pair of jeans right now. You barely even notice he’s holding your neatly folded sweatpants until he holds them out for you to take.

“I washed these for you, thanks for letting me borrow ‘em.” You graciously take them, taken aback by his thoughtfulness. You really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Thanks Bob, you really didn’t have to do that.” He simply shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, straining his forearms.

“It’s really no problem. How are you feeling?” You move to take the pants back to your bedroom, answering him while climbing the stairs.

“I’m alright, definitely better than this morning, thanks to you.” You return downstairs and find Bob admiring the framed pictures on the walls. Some of you and your dad, some of just you. And of course some of Bradley with his family. He picks up a frame of you, Bradley, and Carole. You were only 10, and didn’t know it at the time, but it was one of the last summers you’d spend with the Bradshaws. “Oh god, don’t look at that.” It was meant to be playful, but scared Bob nonetheless.

“Sorry.”

“No I’m sorry, I don’t want to subject you to pre-pubescent me.” He smiles softly and looks back at the picture in his hands. You’re sporting a great toothy smile and hugging Carole while she sticks out her tongue and Bradley gives you bunny-ears with his fingers. Bob doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile that wide since he’s met you. 

“You look so happy” He watches as you reminisce, your eyes softening while your finger runs over the woman’s face. You don’t look a thing like her, but he notices the similarities in Bradley.

“I was”, you say simply. You clear your throat, breaking the both of you out of the moment. “So, you ready to finally get rid of me?” He lets out a small laugh through his nose. That statement could not be farther from the truth. Bob opens his passenger door for you, almost reaching to help you up, but pulling his hand back before it lands at your waist.

“Good to know it wasn’t my truck that was the problem.” You scoff at him as he slides into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on as you do the same.

“I happen to like your truck Robert, just not so much when I can barely feel my legs beneath me.”

“Glad to hear it.” You both smile at each other until he tears his eyes away to the road to get going. The radio begins to fill the silence with its humming, guitar filling the cab of Bob’s truck. His hands start to sweat as he looks over at you, your eyes closed as your head falls back to the headrest. “How’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints yet”, you mumble. Bob chokes on his spit, eyes widening. Did he hear you correctly?

“What?”, he asks quickly. Your eyes mirror Bob’s as you look over at him, his gaze narrowly avoiding yours as his face heats up. You slap your hand over your mouth, forgetting whose presence you were in.

“Oh my god”, you say behind your hand, taking it away only to rest it in between the two of you. “I am so sorry, it’s a reflex response at this point! Phoenix showed me the Elvira movie while in school and it’s just something we say now.” You start to laugh nervously, hoping to dissipate some of the awkward tension you created. His facade cracks as your nervous giggle continues, he begins to break into a full hearted laugh while your giggle turns into something akin to his. “Bob”, you say as your laughter dies down, “If we’re going to be friends you’re going to have to get used to stupid crap like that.” His smile grows a bit wider, as he imagines himself laughing like this with you more often.

“I could get used to that.”

“Good”, you say, resting your head once again. Trying not to stifle another smile that threatens to take over your face.

“But seriously, how are you feeling?” You let out a large sigh.

“Oh you know, drugs can only do so much.” He knows you’re not letting on to how bad you’re actually feeling as your eyes remain closed.

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Oh god no, you were there this morning. I haven’t even dared to try to keep anything down.”

“Well that’s why your head still hurts. You need to absorb the lingering alcohol with some carbs. I know just the place.”

“Ya know I usually have dinner with someone before they sleep over, not the other way around.” Bob’s face still reddens at your remark, but this time he doesn’t shy away from laughing first.

“You know me, always breakin’ the rules.”

Bob pulls off into the parking lot of a small diner, one that had not seen any renovations since at least the 80s. You’re out of your side before he has a chance to open your door. He’s kind of glad you don’t give him the option. He wants to be a gentleman, but doesn’t want to toe the line between friends and something else. He does open the door for you and lets the hostess know it’s just the two of you before getting seated in a small booth close to the back.

You both begin to look over the menu before you speak up, “So, what do you recommend?” He glances up from over his menu before reaching over and pointing at yours. You can’t help but notice the veins bulging out of his hands and forearm as he does so. You keep reminding yourself that friends aren’t supposed to think of each other this way but you just can’t stop yourself from remembering how his hands felt on you. The drag of his long fingers over your arm, and the way his hands gripped your hips-

“They serve breakfast all day, and make a mean biscuits and gravy. But you can’t go wrong with a burger and fries.” Your stomach lurches at the thought and Bob must notice the grimace on your face. “Or, if you’re not feeling up for something that big, they do have good soups. But mama always said that the best cure for a hangover was some nice greasy food.” You smile at the slip of his accent.

“Well, if your mama says so.” His hand retreats as his lips curl up at your mirroring of his accent. The waitress comes over to take your orders, and at his mama’s advice you order a burger and fries. She leaves with the menus as you turn your attention back to Bob. “So, where ya from Bob?”

“I shoulda seen this coming”, he starts to fidget with his hands, drawing your attention back to the long digits.

“What do you mean?”, you respond coyly, feigning ignorance.

“Oh come on, I say ‘mama’ one too many times and people start asking where the twang comes from.”

“Well?”

“If you must know, I’m from West Virginia. Born and raised.” You raise your brows.

“No shit.”

“What?”

“It’s just that I spent every summer with my dad in Virginia. We’ve been next door neighbors this entire time.” Bob allows a slight smile to take over his face, entertained by your excitement.

“Where’d you spend the rest of the year?” It’s your turn to tear your eyes away from him. You try not to let the thought of your mom and her family affect you, but it’s obviously no use.

“With my mom, in Ohio.” Regardless of the fact that Ohio is also a neighbor to West Virginia, you brought up the time with your dad instead. Before he’s able to ask any follow up questions, the waitress comes by with your food, dropping the heaping portions in front of you. You hesitantly take a bite, but instantly melt into it as the first taste hits your tongue. “Shit, that’s good stuff.”

“What’d I tell ya?”, you smile at him through a mouth full of burger while he takes a bite. Opting to slow your roll before you upchuck anything else today, you set your food down and take a drink of your water. “So, your family’s still in West Virginia?” Bob gently sets his burger down and gives you his full attention.

“Yeah, I got an older brother and a younger sister. As well as my mom and dad. They live back on my family’s ranch.”

“So you are full-heartedly a John Denver country boy”, Bob laughs and stares down at his plate.

“I guess I am.”

“So how’d you end up in the Navy then? Assuming your family wanted you to work on the ranch.”

“They just wanted the best for me. One day I picked up a book in the library about planes and I was hooked. Then a Naval recruiter showed up to our high school and told me about the aviation program and here we are.”

“Here we are.” You share eye contact for a quick beat, both smiles growing slowly on your faces once more. You can’t help but feel a little jealous of his family. Both parents just wanting the best for their kids, supporting them no matter what. “I bet your mom’s the kind of person to have a sticker on her car saying ‘Proud Navy Mom’”. He bites his lip to stifle a large grin and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“I plead the fifth.” You break out into a small laugh while Bob admires your smile. He wants to know more about your family but is hesitant to bring up the subject. He decides to go for it anyway, hoping to get to know you a little better than surface level. “I already know about your dad, but I’m assuming your mom wasn’t too thrilled when you joined?” Your hand stops mid-air from bringing the ketchup covered fry to your mouth. You place it back on the plate and dust your hands off on your jeans avoiding Bob’s gaze.

“Uh, no. No she wasn’t. There’s a reason I didn’t tell either of my parents I was going to the Academy, my dad didn’t even know until I sent him a graduation announcement.” Bob’s brow practically raises to his hairline.

“Really, not even your dad?”

“No”, you say shaking your head, “After everything that happened with Bradley I didn’t want to risk him pulling the same bullshit.” “What exactly happened between you and Rooster?” You shake your head again, looking at him this time.

“You don’t wanna hear that.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” Your eyes latch on to his, the sincerity oozing off of him.

“Well, he was like a brother to me. Closest thing I’ve ever had to one, excluding the step-siblings who couldn’t give less of a shit about my existence if they tried. And after my dad pulled his papers to the Academy I never heard from him again. I tried reaching out, and every year I still sent him a text for his birthday. But he never responded.” You swallow and look away from Bob, debating whether or not you’d tell him the whole truth. “And then when I needed him the most he still didn’t pick up. I even left him a voicemail hoping he’d hear it and after six years he’d respond. But nothing. After his mom died, I thought he’d need us more than ever. Turns out he was angry enough to never speak to us again.” You look back at Bob, bringing you down to earth once more. “That was, until this mission. It took them almost dying to get back to each other. That and one weekend in the middle of nowhere, God knows what they talked about.” Bob waits patiently, noticing you struggling to find the words to continue. He continues to nod and stare at you. Not in a pitiful way, but in a way that he wants to understand where you come from. “And I guess I’m still mad at him because both him and my dad got closure. I didn’t. I’m not going to apologize for something my dad did, and I guess Rooster doesn’t think he has anything to apologize for. And now they’re off playing catch-up, and I’m… still here. Not that right here is a bad thing, I’m glad to have your company.”

Bob’s eyes go from understanding to confusion. “If he made up with your dad, that still doesn’t explain why Rooster’s being- “A dickhead?” You cut him off. There’s a small fire behind his eyes now, a look you have never seen on Bob until this point.

“Yeah.” You shrug, going back to your fries.

“I dunno, I’m no psychologist but I think it has something to do with the fact that I started all the smart comments and he’s just getting back at me. Still, I’m angry at him for good reason. I don’t know what his is.” You go back to your food, hoping Bob will notice your want to shift the gears of where this conversation has gone. “But now that you know my tragic backstory, I’m gonna have to kill you.” Catching the way you dissolve into humor, Bob’s face softens as he takes your hand across the table, he seems to be doing that a lot in the past week. You’re not mad about it, not at all. Just.. perplexed. How could you go from barely talking to this man, to sharing some of your darkest secrets with him all within the span of six days?

“Hey”, he brings your attention back to his face rather than your smaller hand in his. His brow turned up in the middle, conveying empathy in the highest degree. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all that, especially by yourself. And you know what, Rooster sounds like a total-” He stops to find the word he’s looking for, you look on waiting to let him see what he comes up with “asshole”, he finishes for himself. Your eyes widen as you take in his words, and that’s when you feel him squeeze your hand in his much larger one. The same hand that traced your arm this morning when he fell asleep next to you, the same one that lifted you up all those stairs, helped you into his car, the same one that pulled you off the ground after your failed exercise, and the same one that is now reassuring you that everything is going to be ok. He can’t know for certain, but for right now everything is better than ok while he holds your hand in his.

You want to tell him how safe he makes you feel, how you want to tell him more about yourself. Something you always had a hard time doing. You squeeze his hand right back and gaze into his ocean-blue eyes. You get lost in them before you’re able to seemingly find the words you’re looking for. They’re in your heart, but you can’t get them to your brain and out of your mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but before you’re able to get anything resembling a ‘thank you’ out, you hear your name being called.

Your head turns in the direction of the voice, as both you and Bob immediately retract your hands from each other. You’re met with Penny and Amelia walking toward the booth you and Bob are seated in. Your heartbeat is racing as you blink rapidly, you barely manage to speak, “Penny, hi!” You glance back at Bob as he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding any eye contact. Why are you so nervous? It’s not like you were doing anything wrong. You were just holding hands across the table with your newly coworker turned friend and getting lost in his gorgeous eyes. Absolutely nothing wrong with that.

“Hey, good to see you made it out of the parking lot alright last night”, Penny remarks as she and Amelia stand before your table. “Not that I had any room for doubt when Bob was the one making sure you got home safe.”

“Right, yeah he made sure I was ok.” You feel a flush take over your face at the prospect of anyone finding out Bob was in your bed last night. Especially your dad’s girlfriend and her daughter. But you know you didn’t do anything wrong, friends share beds all the time. It was purely platonic. “I’m sorry for last night though, won’t happen again.”

She waves her hand, “Don’t even worry about it. You had a little too much to drink in a bar, it happens all the time.” Amelia scoffs at this.

“I heard she got absolutely hammered-”

“Amelia!”Penny scolds her. Bob turns to face the wall, attempting to hide his laugh as you lightly kick his foot. “Anyway, what brings you two here?”

“Oh you know, just pulled off on the way to grab my car. Bob mentioned they have great burgers.” You give him a sly smile, as if it was your own little secret they were the perfect hangover cure.

“That’s exactly why Amelia and I are here. Just having a little date before the bar opens later.” You force a smile as you feel Bob’s gaze on the side of your face. That jealous feeling crawls back up your throat again as you look at the mother-daughter duo. “I thought you would have left already though?” Your brows furrow, breaking you out of your trance.

“Left? For what?”

“Rooster stopped by earlier to grab something for your dad, he was heading out to his hangar earlier today. I assumed you were going with him.” You clear your throat and stare at your hands, twiddling with your thumbs to distract yourself. Your heart drops as you realize, once again, you’ve been left out.

“Um, no. I wasn’t invited.” Screw Rooster, and you know what, screw your dad, too.

“Oh, well. You are always welcome to come over if you ever need or want to.” She seems surprised at the actions of her boyfriend. You make yourself look up at her, plastering on a small smile.

“I know, thanks Penny.”

“We’ll leave you two be. Good to see you both!”

“You, too.” Bob waves at them as you look at your plate, suddenly feeling nauseous again. Your throat starts to tense up as you reach for your water. You are almost 30 for heaven's sake, you should not be jealous of Rooster and your dad. And you sure as hell aren’t going to cry over it.

“Hey-”, Bob starts but is interrupted by the waitress dropping by with the check. You pick it up immediately before Bob can reach for it. “Hey no, let me get that.” You place the check on the seat next to you as you rifle through your purse to grab your card.

“Nope, after everything you did for me last night and today I am not letting you pay.” He goes to open his mouth and you stare directly at him, “Don’t even try Bob.” Sensing the determination in your eyes and voice, he reluctantly allows you to pay.

“That’s alright, I’ll just grab the next one.” You look away as the waitress grabs the bill from you, and surprise coats your features.

“You wanna hang out again? Even after everything that happened in the past 24 hours?”

“Especially after everything. I can’t go back to being just your co-worker after seeing you vomit.” A nervous smile makes its way to his face as a more real one replaces yours. 

“You’re right, we’re friends now. And I can promise you there will be less vomit next time.”

“Can’t wait.”

After getting your card back, you and Bob make your way back to his truck and head off to the Hard Deck. You spot your lone car in the back, only a couple employee cars litter the front row. Bob pulls up right next to your car, hopping out and making sure you have everything before you leave. He even goes so far as to open your door for you as you roll your window down to say goodbye.

“Well, I guess this is me.”

“I guess it is.” He rests his hands on the open window as you grab one final look at him. You rest your elbow in between his hands, admiring his veins. Trying not to imagine tracing over them with your fingers.

“You better not ghost me at work on Monday.” You scold him. He laughs through his nose and looks down.

“I promise I won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that, Floyd. And thanks again, for everything.” He taps his fingers a couple times before leaning away.

“I trust you will, Mitchell. Drive safe.” You bid him goodbye, taking a deep breath, trying no to process everything that happened today while driving. Saving all your feelings for when you’re home alone, in the privacy of your room. The only four walls you feel safe to cry in.

Bob watches you slowly drive to the edge of the parking lot. He would have never guessed so many things that he learned about you today. The way you looked at Penny and Amelia deeply saddened him. The fact that Rooster is still being an asshole after he didn’t speak to you for 16 years angered him. After you shared that with him, he wanted to do everything in his power to make you happy. It’s obvious you’re good at putting on a mask, but Bob is good at noticing the little things. How great you are at faking happiness being one of them. And then there’s the fact that after today you’re going home to an empty house because your dad and Rooster made plans without you, yet again. 

Before he fully knows what he’s doing, his feet start moving toward your car, hoping to catch you before you leave the parking lot. It must have been the fastest he’s ever run, possibly even faster than when his older brother, Tom, chased him with a handful of cow poop. You must notice him in your rear view, as you stop and poke your head out the window.

“Is everything ok?”, you ask, concern lacing your features. Bob’s out of breath as he gets to your window, once again resting his hands in your car. And he’s still out of breath as he asks his question.

“Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow?”

Taglist:

"Me and Rooster...." Y/N repeated laughed. "More like you and Rooster." She replied referring to the stand off they had during training that almost lead to both their deaths. 

"Yeah. it's just I saw you guys in there the other night and it seemed like there was something there." He explained. "Look I know it isn't my business but Rooster means a lot to me and I just want to make sure that when I put this team together they are gonna be able to work as a team."

He cares about Rooster? There was obviously some kind of history there, which made Y/N wonder how they could both care for someone yet they never crossed paths. Normally she wouldn't have answered but she convinced herself that Maverick was right, if they were going to work as a team they couldn't let things like this fester, though maybe she just wanted him to know her better, no matter how bad of a light it would paint her in she wanted to him to know who she was. 

"Rooster and I were....Involved a few years back, stationed in the same place, and I hurt him...no matter how much I want to pretend I didn't." She revealed being met with a confused look. "We were pretty serious and one day I put a request...and I left him...he didn't know until I was already gone." 

"Ouch."

"Yeah I'm not proud of it." Y/N hung her head when she remembers her actions. "I was too caught up in the past to let myself be happy with what I had in the present." 

"Trust me kid I know exactly what you mean." Maverick sympathized. "Sometime ghosts from the past catch up faster than you think."

"More like I was trying to catch up with them."

"Well now I'm intrigued..." Maverick joked looked expectedly at her wanting to know more. 

"When my mother found out she was pregnant with me...she decided not to tell my father and she left. When I was fourteen I found some of his stuff and I've been looking for him ever since." She told the story trying her hardest to hold back tears realizing this was probably the closest she would ever bring herself to telling him the truth. "I found a picture of him and my mom, I carry it everywhere. When I was with Rooster it was like nothing else mattered I would go days, weeks without thinking about him, but one day...I saw that picture again and something in me just snapped back. I remembered the reason I had done all of this."

"All this?"

"He's Naval Aviator Pilot, he was the reason I first wanted to join. When my mom found out I joined up she disowned me, hasn't spoken to me since, I had already come too far, lost too much to give up...so I left." As Y/N told the story her eyes practically begged Maverick to put the pieces together. He was a Naval Pilot, does he not remember her mother? they seemed so in love but looks can be deceiving. "Not I think about how much I've lost because I refuse to give up on a guy who could potentially want nothing to do with me."

"Hey I've known you for less than 72 hours and I know that, that guy would be an idiot to not want to know you."

"Do you have any children, sir?" 

"No," Maverick answered. Y/N didn't know if she should be relieved or disappointed, she had always wanted siblings. "Rooster is the closest thing I've ever had to a son."

"Did you ever wanted them?" She asked gripping the the railing of the patio as she waited anxiously for his answer.

Before he had the chance the sound of music and loud chatter broke through. "Well Darwin. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were brown nosing." Hangman said strutting outside with the rest of the Top Gun class following. 

"Good thing you know better." 

"Darwin and I were just bonding over being some of the few Top Gun student to shoot down a instructor." Maverick lied causing Y/N to throw her head back in laughter. 

"That's not how I hear it sir." She smiled when his eyes widened in shock. 

"And how did you hear it Darwin?" Maverick asked as the rest of the team looked on expectedly.

"You didn't get the shot until you were 3,000 ft. below the 10,000 ft. hard deck, a technical loss." Y/N stated matter of factly. 

"And where did you hear that?"

"Ice- I mean Commander Kazansky, sir" She answered. "He likes to reminisce."

"I'm sure he liked to say he and his RIO were the only ones to succeed."

"Actually sir, Commander Kazansky says you won." She corrected. "He said out in the sky there is no hard deck and kill is a kill." 

"You know the commander well?" Phoenix asked. 

"Just in passing." Y/N admits. "He'd tell a few stories give a few tips."

"Well lets hope you remember them well cause your gonna need all the help you can get for tomorrow." Maverick said raising his glass as a chores of groans sounded around the group.

*-*-*

"Time is is your greatest enemy, Phase one of the mission will be a low level ingress attacking in two plan teams. You'll fly along this narrow canyon to your target, radar guided Surface Air Missiles defend the area, these SAMs are lethal. But they were designed to protect the skies above not the canyon below. 

"That's because the enemy know no one is insane enough to try and fly below them." Rooster chimed in. 

"That's exactly what I'm gonna train you to do." Maverick replied. "One the day your altitude will be one hundred feet...maximum, you exceed the altitude radar will spot you and your dead. Your air speed will be 660 knouts...minimum. Time to target two and a half minutes, that because fifth generation fighter wait at an air base nearby and a  head to head with these in your f-18s...your dead. Which is why you need to get in and get out before they even have a chance at spotting you, this makes time your greatest adversary."   

*-*-*

"Darwin we are one minute and twenty from target." Halo informed. 

"Good have that laser re-" She started to reply only to be cut off.

"Oh shit." 

"Omaha what the fuck is going on." She asked fighting the urge to turn and look out of fear of running off course.

"I almost hit a wall." Omaha answered. "We're back on course, we need some time to catch up."

"We don't have time, increase your speed and fall back in line." Y/N replied trying to focus on making the turns. 

"We're thirty seconds ahead of schedule." Halo informed.

"And I want to stay that way. Increase your speed." 

"I can't navigate at this speed." 

"Approaching target." Y/N announced ignoring her wingman. "Dagger two behind, I'd have to drop blind." 

*-*-*

"Why are you dead?" 

"I'm not."

"But your wingman is." He corrected. "You left them behind to face bandits. why?"

"The goal was to make it to the target."

"which is pointless unless you can guarantee a direct hit, which is a hell of a lot harder without you wingman." He said. "Who you left behind to be thirty seconds ahead of schedule?" Maverick asked hands on his hips. Y/N opened her mouth to answer  only to be cut off. "Don't tell me...tell it to their families."

*-*-*

"So Kazansky, I hear you like to tell war stories." Maverick joked with his blonde friend. Letting a smile take over his face 'Iceman' started typing.

"I take it you met Darwin." He stated. "What do you think."

"She...nice" Maverick said as if looking for any good word to describe the young pilot before Iceman gave him a look. "Okay, she's confident if not a bit arrogant, she a good pilot and god does she know it but she needs to learn that it take more than just being the best."

"Remind you of anyone?" Ice replied back causing the two to share a small laugh. 

"Yeah you." Maverick answered. "I know I was the same, almost exactly."

"She reminded me a lot of you when I first met her." Ice stated. "I think you two have a lot more in common than you realize." 

Walking down the tarmac admiral Kazansky noticed a piece of paper lying face down on the ground, bending down to pick it up he was surprised to see a picture of Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell and a woman who look slightly familiar.

Looking up he sees a young woman walking around the tarmac looking franticly around until her eyes landed on him, more specify the object in his hands. Cautiously she approached the man.

"Yes?" He asked looking at her intensely.

"Excuse me sir but that belongs to me." She replied trying her best not to reach out and take it from his hands. 

"Does it?" He asked attempting to probe without outright asking.

"Yes, sir." She answered. "It's my parents." She stated as if she herself was unsure of what to call the people in the photo. 

"Are you close." He asked holding the picture out to her. "To your parents, I mean." Ice and Maverick spoke in a regular basis and never once had he mentioned having a child, which is something that would have come up. So either this girl was mistaken or Maverick himself didn't know about her, seeing as he wasn't the kind of guy to run away from responsibility.

Taking a deep breath Y/N stared down at the photo for a while before giving what Ice could see as an obviously forced smile.

"No, but this is all have." 

"What do they call you?" 

"Darwin, sir." She replied looking confused as to why he would even care. 

"Darwin, Your top of your class is I recall correctly." He noted remembering one of the admirals talking about the cocky pilot that buzzed a tower a week prior. The smirk that involuntary spread across her face did little to deter Iceman's assumption on who her father was.

"Yes sir, I am." 

"You remind me a lot of a pilot I flew with when I was a lieutenant...Maverick." 

"I believe I've heard the callsign before, I'd love to put a face to the name." 

"I'm sure you have, it's surprising there are no pictures around, he was peacock." Ice joked. "He had a thing for buzzing towers as well." 

Y/N looked like a child being scolded as she fought not to smile remembering the event that errand her a hefty scolding as well as 350 push ups on this very tarmac.

"She buzzed the tower you know." Ice informed causing Maverick to display the same smirk her had seen on Y/N when they first met. He wished he could tell Maverick the truth, wished he had told them both when he figured it out himself, but something told him that he shouldn't. "Has a habit of getting herself in trouble, almost made it hard to get her into Top Gun." 

"Guess she is a lot like me huh." Maverick agreed. Ice wondered how Maverick couldn't see it, but then again maybe if he hadn't seen the picture he wouldn't have either. "She left her wingman behind...twice." 

"She can be a bit of a lone wolf sometimes, but I know when the time comes you can depend on her." 

"I guess we'll see." Maverick replied before he looked up with huge grin on his face. "Did you know about her and Bradley?" He asked as the two started laughing at the complicated love life of their friends child. 

Ice walked Maverick to the front door after their gossiping about the two pilots and if they would work it out or not. Opening the door Maverick was a bit shocked to see Y/N walking up, while Tom expected her to have come sooner. 

"Captain Mitchell." Y/N greeted yet her gaze stated locked on the fleet commander. She had put together that there was no way that Ice didn't know and that the Maverick that everyone was talking about was Pete Mitchell, the article she read never included callsigns so this whole time listened to Iceman let her stories about her father.

"Darwin." Maverick greeted back sending a small smile to her and Tom before exiting the home.  

Opening the door wider, Ice gestured for Y/N to come inside. Walking in she waited as he closed the door and turned to look at her.

"Was it the whole time?"

He nodded. 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" 

Pulling out his phone Ice began to type out a response. 

"No."

"Why?" 

"I thought it was for the best." He replied. "Are you upset?"

"I wish that I could say I wasn't, but I am." She admitted never having the ability to lie to him about her emotions, he was one of the first person to know about her feeling for Rooster even before Rooster himself. "I understand that this is something I need to do on my own, I just wish- I don't know."

"Are you going to tell him?" 

"I don't know..."

*-*-*

"Darwin." Rooster called out to her as she walked towards the classroom. Rolling her eyes Y/N knew that he would try to corner her eventually. 

"Yes, Bradley." She asked turning around to face him. 

"Bradley." He repeated raising his brow. "Am I in trouble?"

"Not if you aren't looking for it." She replied crossing her arms over her chest. "Is there something you needed or can I go get ready for the exercise."

"I just wanna understand." 

"Understand what exactly." 

"You know what." 

"I don't have time for this." Y/N scoffed turning away wanting to focus on the mission instead of playing whatever game this was.

"You never do, do you?" He asked walking in front of her to block her path. "when ever thing don't go your way you just walk away. It must be so easy for you." 

"Oh my god Bradley, we have more important thing to worry about." She scolded as he glares down at her. "How do you ever expect to fly this mission if you keep living in the past."

"I'm living in the past?" He asked. "That's rich coming from you. You molded your whole life around a photo that was taken before you were born, of a guy who doesn't know your alive, spent your whole career being this 'lone wolf' so when anyone dares to get close you become emotionally unavailable, your incapable of considering anyone but yourself  which is probably why you abandoned you wingman in the last two exercise missions."

"Wow Rooster if this pilot thing doesn't work out you should become a shrink." Y/N replied sarcastically acting as is his words didn't effect her.

"Please it doesn't take a shrink to realize you have major daddy issues."

Y/N flinched as if his words had just slapped her in the face. "Wow, dad critique from you Rooster....That's rich." She sneered before turning on her heels and walking away.

After a short time Rooster followed behind Y/N into the classroom neither noticed Maverick witness the whole thing.

A/N: ask and you shall be tagged 🏷, if your were already asked to be tagged I’ll tag you for the rest of this series.